


When Angels Scream, and the Devils Cry

by MagiraMayuya



Series: Getting from Inferno to Paradiso [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Dad-Dante, Found Family, Gen, Mentions of Bayonetta, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, Other, People Will Die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27574234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagiraMayuya/pseuds/MagiraMayuya
Summary: One lousy birthday, Dante made a wish.Which is how he ended up with an angel for a daughter, adopting an orphaned girl, and finding out his brother left someone behind on Fortuna.Things can only go downhill so fast and so badly for the family that now lives in Devil May Cry.
Relationships: Dante & Lady (Devil May Cry), Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Patty Lowell, Dante & Trish (Devil May Cry), Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Dante (Devil May Cry) & Original Character(s)
Series: Getting from Inferno to Paradiso [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015551
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	1. The first three days

**Author's Note:**

> Ah boy, this was just a thing I had to write, you know how it is.
> 
> For the point of this exercise, Dumary Island came before the anime, because it makes sense to me if Trish and Lady vanish, and then he goes off without either of them, and during the anime they slowly come back into his life.
> 
> Please critique me, I'm trying really hard to write a good story. I'm also open to beta-readers because I know my eyes sometimes aren't enough

Mallet Island had been his undoing, and everyone had known it. Morrison, Lady, Trish, each of them knew that seeing Vergil on that island, under Mundus’ thumb, had only confirmed his worst fears since Temin-ni-Gru. His brother had fallen too far and was now lost, the amulet half he once wore so proudly the only reminder that Dante even had to confirm that he once had family.

It had been about two years since that incident, and then Dante had gone on a job on Dumary Island, leaving Lucia to run the shop for the next four months while Dante made his way back through Hell to the human world. And once he had, he remained as somber as ever, taking whatever jobs came his way with a kind of reckless abandon, as if he wanted to be as far away from Devil May Cry as possible at all times. And then his birthday had come around again, just like every year, in the later end of Summer. Normally, for the past decade, he’d spend the day drinking with whoever was nearby, but this year he’d taken on a particularly strenuous job. He’d thrown himself completely into the battle, his client this time a bishop, the cathedral he ministered under assault from demons who sought a holy relic within. 

Once he had returned to Devil May Cry, now a few thousand richer, he’d collapsed into the closest couch. He lay there for a time, simply staring at the ceiling fans, hand absently flicking a clear gem into the air. The relic the demons had come for, was a dinky little crystal. It didn’t feel powerful, but there was something about it, as if it were alive. The bishop had told him it was from even before Sparda had closed the human world off from the underworld. He’d all but forced Dante to take it as a gift, and wished the hunter well, pushing him out the doors. Granted, Dante wasn’t completely stupid, despite whatever his brother may have thought. He vaguely remembered seeing something like this in one of the few books that survived the house fire of his childhood home; what he held was a seed. A pure soul sealed into a crystal, said to be able to grant a single wish.

Dante was not one for magic, he barely remembered much of what he’d learned from a particular white-haired witch, but why not try? He decided that if his birthday was going to suck forever, it could only get so much worse. He sat up, pulled his glove off his hand, and slashed his palm with the sharp end of the tear-shaped gem. He grasped the seed with his wounded hand, covering it with his blood, and made his wish.

“I wish…” he whispered, closing his eyes, “I wish for a reason to live.” 

When nothing happened, his wound healed and the gem still coated in blood, Dante scoffed. Of course, nothing had happened. All his good fortunes were doomed, it seemed. The hunter resigned himself to his fate, and laid back down on the couch to sleep, crystal clutched to his chest.

\--------

When the Listener had heard the Prayer, it had been decided. 

For too long, the hunter’s soul had been in pain, for too long the hunter had been empty. Now, Heaven had a chance, a peace offering to give, and a Prayer to fulfill. The seed had already absorbed the hunter’s blood, the soul within was ready to manifest. 

The Designer was busy in the workshop, forming a familiar face, a delicate frame, then it was filled with strength of heart, an unbreakable armour and shield against the hordes that would come in time. 

When it was done, the Prayer was answered, the seed now forming a tiny child, no more than four human years, clinging to the hunter’s chest. Now that the hunter had been answered, it was up to him to accept.

\------

Dante felt like he was on fire, something on his chest was burning him alive. In less than a second, he was awake, and had Ivory pointed at the lump of white on his torso.

The lump moved, the lump _yawned_. 

And then Dante screamed. 

Sliding off his belly, feet now on the floor, was a little girl. She stared at the hunter, his gun still to her face, with wide blue eyes. Her tiny face turned sour, a frown fixed upon it.

“Father!” She huffed, stamping her foot. Dante leapt backwards, putting space between himself and the child. 

“I’m nobody’s dad, kid.” He snarled. The girl smelled strange, and his inner demon was alive in fury. The girl crossed her arms and flopped onto the floor.

“Yes you are! You’re my father!” She shouted. Her expression then changed to sorrow, as fat, wet tears started to streak down her cheeks.

“You wished for me, I’m here….” She hiccuped. Suddenly Dante remembered the seed, his hand now devoid of any gemstones or injuries, his glove still on the floor next to the couch. The inner demon quieted, and the human half of his soul ached with recognition. As he put his gun back into his waistband, and slowly approached the sulking child, he recognised how familiar she looked, white long hair and blue eyes like his own. 

Once he reached where the girl had planted herself, tears and sniffles slowly drying, Dante mentally cursed himself. Of all his rotten luck, his wish had to work this time. He sighed, steadying himself.

“Alright, alright. Let’s start over.” Dante replaced the missing glove onto his hand, then reached out for the child on his floor. She hesitated before taking his hand, and was swiftly lifted into his arms. Pink dusted her cheeks and nose, and wetness surrounded her eyes and mouth. He walked with her into the bathroom to wipe her face clean. Now that she had settled, and the blood in her face had receded thanks to some cool water, Dante sat her on his desk as he took up his chair.

“How did you get here, kid?” Dante asked casually, watching the girl closely. She pulled the collar of her dress down, between her collarbones was the seed from the night before, lodged firmly in her skin. That answered the question sufficiently, this was definitely the result of last night then, he’d activated the seed and now he had a kid calling him ‘father’. Dante was quiet as the girl began to talk.

“Father,” she whispered, “I’m like you, see?” From her back sprouted two feathered wings, which caped her shoulders defensively, and the sense for danger from his demon half flared up. No wonder why he’d been burning under her touch. She was nothing like him.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Dante countered, the girl’s face falling flat, as Dante triggered his own wings, red and black leathery flesh folded in around his waist.

“I’m half-devil. You’re a divine creature.” Wings then faded, hers into gold dust and his into embers, the girl drawing her legs and arms into herself. Silence reigned for a while, as both considered their existences. 

“Dante, son of Sparda,” the girl shifted her weight around, eventually untucking her limbs, “I want to make you happy again.” Her eyes softened, and she breathed shallowly as the hunter closed his eyes in thought. At this point, Dante resigned himself to his fate, he’d had two others basically call him family, why not one more? He sighed again, and ran a hand through his hair, before facing the girl again.

“Alright. You can stay. What’s your name?” The girl looked at him owlishly, shrugging. 

“I, um, don’t have one. I am your guardian angel, that’s all I know.” The child swung her feet as she stared at the floor, frowning. Dante huffed a laugh, guardian angel? Suddenly the memory of the white-haired witch came back to him, hadn’t that been what started this? Remembering the magic she’d taught him? Dante figured it would be a good name, a fitting name, for his new charge.

“Jeanne. You can be Jeanne.” The girl, Jeanne, lit up with joy. A bright smile took over her features, and her little giggle brought a smile to Dante’s face too.

“I’m Jeanne!” She squealed in delight as she fell forward into Dante’s lap, hugging him around his neck. Despite the gentle hum of holy power burning against his exposed flesh, the warmth of the embrace was welcome. 

\-------

It had become apparent exactly how much Jeanne knew of her divine powers the second time Dante had come back from a job. Devil May Cry smelled far too clean for it to be simply normal cleaning chemicals. 

He’d been met with a splash of cleanse enchanted water when he’d opened the door, and his face was slightly burnt. Jeanne had all but fallen over herself to apologise, and Dante simply told her to never use the spell in the store again. He did appreciate the state of the walls though, now that they were back to their utilitarian grey, without any blood stains, grease or otherwise general filth, Dante felt a sense of ease. 

His Devil Arms begged to differ, yelling at him that _they_ almost got cleansed, and being left laying about the shop had put them in the direct lines of fire of the spell. 

“She’s still too small! Can’t control her magic properly.” Alastor berated Jeanne to Dante, as he picked up the sword and put him onto a newly uncovered shelf. (Apparently Jeanne was quite happy to cause chaos by instilling order. Ironic.) 

“I’m sure she’ll learn eventually. I’m sorry guys, won’t happen again.” Dante promised to his arranged arms, each of them hissing at him to make sure it didn’t. Nobody wanted a face full of holy magic, it tasted awful and stung. 

Dante settled into his chair again, chewing through a pizza he’d bought yesterday. A stark realisation hit him, had he seen Jeanne eat? Over the past three days he’d barely seen her at all, between jobs that Morrison helped organise for him, and the few times she’d poked her head out of a door to ask him a question about where something went. Hearing the girl shuffling around upstairs, he lifted the box and found her in his room. The normal detritus of old, musty clothes and various pieces of paper, rubbish and whatever else had found its way out of his pockets and onto the floor had been completely removed, and his window was open, the light of dusk washing over red bedsheets. Jeanne was sitting on said bed, staring into the sky. 

“Hey kid, you hungry?” Jeanne whipped around to see Dante holding out the pizza to her, and she felt her stomach protest.

“Um...No thank you, father.” Dante shrugged, chomping down on the last of the offered food, sitting himself beside the girl. 

“You should eat something, or else you’re going to hurt yourself.” Dante spoke lowly, remembering his own childhood of scavenging for food between his quote-on-quote training and running from strangers. He felt Jeanne’s body fall onto his side, heat rising from the presence of conflicting powers. The girl was fast asleep, snoring quietly, and Dante finally got a good look at her. Her dress was grimy, probably from her cleaning efforts, and her hair was knotted and fluffed without any kind of way to contain it. The hunter hadn’t thought of what Jeanne might need at all, still in disbelief over the situation, but the cleanliness of the space around him reminded him that he had taken pretty poor care of himself. He had someone else to look after now, someone who was looking after him, it seemed. He laid Jeanne onto his bed, closing the window for her, then left for his desk. 

He wasn’t used to having much cash, always on the border of broke, but since he hadn’t done much other than work since his return from Hell, he suddenly had a substantial amount of money. He called his favoured pizza parlour and asked for his tab, counting the money needed to repay that debt, and then he called Lady.

“Lady,” He spoke softly once the woman in question had picked up the phone.

“Dante, you calling for a favour?” Lady’s response was sharp. Dante clicked his tongue and prepared himself.

“Uh, no. Actually, I have your blood money.” There was a laugh on the other end. 

“Get real, there’s no way you have that much.” Lady chuckled. She sighed, calming, before she replied further.

“But if you really do, as you say, have my blood money, I’ll be there in an hour to get it.” With a click the connection was cut, and Dante stared at the amounts prepared on his desk, waiting for their recipients.   
\-----

Lady was impressed when Dante counted out his debt, and handed her the appropriate amount, but she was also suspicious. She’d known that Dumary Island was a last-ditch attempt to kill himself, why else would he go into Hell and not return for four months? The way he was acting, tidying up his debts and cleaning his shop to this level, where Lady could see her reflection in the wooden floors, was Dante about to try suicide again? Lady swallowed hard.

“Dante,” She almost whispered, the hunter turned his blank expression to her, “You, um. You’re not...going somewhere, are you?” She felt her heart drop to her feet, as Dante cocked his head to the side, and gave her a small smirk.

“Nah, not this time. I just thought I’d better get things straightened out.” Lady’s brows furrowed, and Dante slapped his palm to his face. 

“I finally have enough to clear the debt, that’s all.” Dante crossed his arms, sinking into his chair, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. The soft buzzing of the lights and the hum of the fan filled the space for a time, Lady still nervous about the intention behind Dante’s sudden payment, and Dante unsure of what exactly he was _supposed_ to do now.

For a time, it had been satisfying just to throw himself recklessly into the fight, to draw blood and to get hurt just to feel something, anything, better than the guilt he knew rested in his chest. But hadn’t his wish been answered? He’d been given a reason to live, from the seed. A child was now asleep above him and Lady, but in the back of his mind was the question of exactly how related they were. How much of ‘his’ child was the girl Jeanne, who was by all rights and means, a literal angel?

The heavy air of the room was broken when Jeanne flew down the stairs, and into the arms of Dante, snuggling into his lap, the now familiar burn of divine and damned powers grazing his skin wherever she touched, even under his clothes. Lady screamed, the child turning around just in time to get a barrel pointed at her face, blue eyes wide in shock.

“DANTE!” Lady yelled, firing into the back of the child, Jeanne falling forward into Dante’s arms, as the round made its way through his lower chest. The scent of Jeanne’s blood then hit Dante’s nose, and all was clear to him, Lady was now a _threat to his kin_. He snarled, lifting his own gun, cradling the motionless Jeanne to his chest, the adults in a deadlock driven by sudden fear. Light then enveloped Jeanne’s form, and Dante yelped as his skin burnt from exposure, Lady also flinching backwards.

Now healed, and very much cross, Jeanne climbed out of Dante’s grasp, and approached Lady, who was still trying to steady her sight.

“Why did you shoot me?” Jeanne demanded, scowling at Lady. The woman was still speechless, as she looked between hunter and child, and shook her head.

“What are you doing here, kid?” Lady reached for the girl, pulling her roughly by the arm and was about to begin an assault of words, when Dante’s shadow loomed over both of them, eyes glowing a dangerous red. Lady retracted her grasp on Jeanne, who gave Dante a pleading look. The hunter backed down, and he pinched his nose in frustration. 

Was it the human half, or the demon, that had reacted to the scent of Jeanne’s blood? 

“Father, I had a dream-” Jeanne began, before Lady recovered her train of thought, 

“Father? Dante what were you doing with your pants down?!” Dante countered,

“No talking like that around her, Lady.” Jeanne growled in frustration, regaining the adult’s attention.

“Father! Listen!” Jeanne grabbed his coattail, tugging on it. Dante lifted her up, as Jeanne recounted her dream.

“I saw a little boy, he was crying. He had hair like yours! And...he smelled like you too. A little.” Lady gave Dante more of a judging glare. Two children? Dante gave out a long suffering sigh, setting Jeanne onto his desk, as Lady cautiously followed Dante towards the couches.

“Lady, this is Jeanne. My...Guardian angel.” Jeanne swung her legs happily when her name was mentioned, waving towards Lady. The woman scowled.

“Guardian angel? She’s a half-pint who hasn’t had a decent bath in what, days? Dante,” The huntress trained her gun back on the half-devil, as if to dare him into giving her a reason to shoot, “Why did she call you father? Who is she, really?” 

“She’s an angel, born from a seed. You know what those are, right?” Dante reached into the cupboard next to his couch, pulling out a pair of glasses and a fresh bottle of whiskey, offering a drink to Lady. She made a non-committal grunt as she accepted the fiery liquid. 

“Right, so she’s an _actual_ angel. I thought Heaven didn’t listen anymore, which is why Sparda had to pick up the slack in the first place.” Lady lamented softly into her drink, as Jeanne shuffled closer to Dante, who was already downing his second glass. The girl settled onto the seat next to him.

“That’s...Kind of why I’m here.” Lady shot her a snarl, as Jeanne steadied herself, “I’m Jeanne. I am a promise. An answer. The olive branch, so to speak. I may look like a small kid,” Jeanne reached unconsciously for her seed, brushing her fingers over the cool crystal.

“But I assure you, Heaven does listen, but they can only do so much.” Dante ruffled her already messy hair, apologising when she hissed in pain, he’d caught on some knots.

“Okay,” Lady sighed, putting down her empty glass for another round. She swirled her drink around as she considered her next question.

“You said there was a kid that smells like Dante, what’s that about?” Dante shrugged,

“Beats me, this is the first I’ve heard of it.” Lady glared at him for a moment, downing her drink.

“Of course you wouldn’t know, you probably knocked the poor girl up and left them on their own!” Lady moved to fire her pistol into Dante, but his demonic aura caused her to hesitate. He all but snapped in response.

“Lady, as much as I hate this conversation,” He grumbled, burying his face in his hands, “I’m actually considerate about my actions in bed. There’s only one other candidate for parent.” Lady and Dante shared a knowing look, and then Lady shrunk in her seat, mournful.

“That’s...almost tragic. Do you think he…?” Dante shook his head. He didn’t profess to know much about his brother, but he also doubted that Vergil would simply have a child frivolously, or at least have the sense not to abandon them like he had been so long ago.

“Look, we don’t even know where this kid is, or if he’s even real _right now_.” Jeanne gave a sheepish look to Dante, as he brought her into a gentle embrace. 

“Yes, any sight I have may be...hindered by my immaturity. This will change shortly.” Jeanne had whispered, before her stomach growled. Dante gave a good-hearted chortle, as he flicked the girl’s nose.

“So you _were_ hungry.” Jeanne’s face flushed in shame, and Lady chuckled, joining in Dante’s obvious mirth.

“Alright, alright you two halflings. I’ll get us all something to chow. Dante, clean her up.” Lady leapt out of her chair and headed towards the evening outside the shop, considering her food options. Maybe-

“Anything without cheese, _please_ , Madam Lady!”   
\--------

Getting Jeanne clean was a small nightmare on Dante’s part. The amount of hair she had was intimidating to say the least, and the brush he barely used had almost broken in the ordeal, and Jeanne was not used to having knots, not that Dante had ever appreciated the pain that brushing his hair could bring sometimes. The problem with Devil May Cry's bathroom was that it was only made for adults, and Dante didn't want to share a shower with Jeanne; not only would it feel inappropriate, but their powers would only burn each other's exposed skin. 

"If I had more energy I could just cast another cleanse spell." Jeanne twisted the ball of her foot around on the cool tile floor. Dante shrugged apologetically.

"One day you'll see the magic of a hot shower." With a light chuckle and Jeanne at his heels, they returned to the main part of the shop. 

When Lady returned with their meals, she passed the smallest of the containers to Jeanne, all three containing curry rice. Jeanne took a sniff of hers, before deciding it was appropriate to eat, the adults already spoonfuls into their own meals. Jeanne all but fell melted at the deliciously buttery potatoes and carrots covered in the mild, warm sauce. Lady was watching the girl with intense curiosity, nudging Jeanne’s leg with her foot to get her attention.

“How divine are you? What’s the limit here?” Jeanne swallowed her mouthful, considering her answer for a moment.

“Can’t eat living things, and I don’t really need to sleep. I can’t use my full abilities yet.” Lady made a gesture, encouraging Jeanne to continue, Dante also turning his full attention to the girl.

“Soul divination, magic control, transformation. It’s hard to be exact, the Designer only made so much for me to know.” Jeanne yawned, setting her empty dishes on the floor, before tucking into Dante’s side. Lady exhaled, then excused herself, bidding the hunter farewell. Dante swept Jeanne up and into the upper quarters again, returning to his desk to sleep for himself, as much as he could.


	2. First meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since Dante's birthday in August, things have begun to look up, and at the same time look worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mention of Morrison, assume it's his DMC5 appearance, and not the anime one. Fits the aesthetic better for me.

Jeanne remained asleep for a week, and Dante was slowly beginning to worry. Had he done something to hurt her? Was it the conflict of their powers that caused the sudden coma? To banish the itch of nerves under his skin, he took on more jobs, and Morrison had grown worried for the hunter. He invited himself into the shop, having driven Dante home from a rather simple investigative mission. In the dim lighting, it was hard to see, but something had caused Dante to halt, causing Morrison to side step the hunter for the light switch. What he saw also gave him cause to pause.

A young lady was sitting behind the desk, a serene expression on her face. Her long, white locks had been neatly tied into a pair of braids. When she opened her eyes, a blue gaze scanned over the pair. She rose smoothly from the chair, floor length white gown flowing with each step she took towards Dante, who was still frozen in place.

“Father,” her voice was soft, but clear, “I’m sorry I worried you.” Dante snapped out of his stupor, and he reached out for the girl’s face, gently brushing her loose strands of hair back.

“You...look so much like her.” Dante grimaced, and Morrison flicked his sight from the girl to the picture of Eva on Dante’s desk. Morrison knew that Dante had a friend that looked exactly like Eva, and now that he could see some resemblance between this new young lady, and the hunter’s mother, the broker had to wonder. 

“Dante, is this lovely young bird Trish’s, by any chance?” At the mention of the she-devil, Dante bristled, and then he seemed to recover his sensibility, shrinking away from Jeanne.

“Uh, no. She’s...No relation to Trish.” Dante gazed at his hands, it didn’t hurt to touch Jeanne any more, not like those few days ago when even clothed, her presence would burn him.

“Well then,” Morrison huffed, taking out a cigarette from his pocket, “I’m Morrison. Who might you be, little lady?” Before he had a chance to light the end of his smoke, he felt the lighter leave his hand, and lodge itself firmly into the wall behind him. The young lady was glaring at him, eyes glowing gold.

“How barbaric. I’ll not tolerate your habit, Mr Morrison.” She hissed, walking past the broker to retrieve the lighter from its current placement. Device in hand, she faced him, and offered it back to him in her open palm.

“I am Jeanne, Dante’s guardian angel.” She looked over to Dante, who was giving her a quizzical look, causing her to flush in shame. She deposited the item into the waiting hand of Morrison, before returning to Dante’s side.

“I am also his daughter.” She bowed her head, and Morrison gave a hearty laugh, Dante patting her shoulder lightly. 

“Of all the supernatural spooks you give me, this one takes the cake.” Morrison chuckled, tucking his lighter back into his jacket, cigarette also finding its way back into its pack. Dante shrugged, hanging his head.

“Last week she was only four years old. What happened while you were asleep?” Dante sighed as he resumed his seat at his desk, Jeanne sitting on the corner of the polished mahogany. 

“It surprised me too. On the bright side, this body is better at containing my divinity.” Jeanne gave the hunter a bright smile, Dante gaining a softer look on his features. He raised his eyes to Morrison, nodding.

“Well, thank you for driving me home, Morrison.” The broker mock-bowed, then waved goodnight as he went into the neon-lit cityscape.

“Tomorrow,” Dante spoke lowly, “You and I are going out.” 

\-------

Jeanne hadn’t been expecting the call to fight her father so soon, but she resigned herself to her fate. Dante still seemed on edge around her, and that hurt more than the dreams she’d had in her week long slumber, where she’d watched the boy from the first dream. He’d been knocked around and beaten down by all the children around him, and each strike only furthered the pain she felt. 

Just like when she watched that boy, she felt distant from Dante still. Her hand brushed over the thin flesh that hid her seed, feeling the gem against her fingertips, and she drove down her dread. She would connect with the hunter, she had to, Heaven was counting on it. If fighting is what it took to convince him to accept her, then she’d fight with all she had.

Once they’d stopped in the clearing, far away from almost any civilisation, Dante threw his coat and shirt to the ground, tucking Ebony and Ivory into his pant’s waistband. Jeanne stared at him, confused.

“Father, what is-” Dante pointed both his barrels at her face, and squeezed the triggers. Jeanne’s power flared to life, and two feathered wings exploded from behind her shoulders, shielding her from the shots. 

“Father!” Jeanne screamed in surprise as Dante charged towards her, Rebellion in hand. Jeanne flapped her wings and headed for the sky, hovering above the hunter. He responded by air hiking, going for a downward swing to knock her out of the air. She barely dodged the strike, but fell onto the ground due to a lack of balance.

“Get up, fight, Jeanne. You say you’re my guardian,” Dante growled, replacing Rebellion with the business end of the Nightmare Beta, light glowing dangerously as it charged.

“You say you’re my daughter? Prove it.” Jeanne still wasn’t sure what a fight would accomplish, but she knew that the dress she donned was only going to slow her down. She focused her energy again, pulling her wings close over her body, the white fabric now gold and white plating, a helm over her head with a twisted halo surrounding it. 

Jeanne moved, she charged, fingers pointed towards Dante as she chased for his heart. The hunter predictably dodged, and unloaded more bullets in her direction, her wings once again shielding her from the fire. Feathers flew around her in a cloud, and she directed them towards Dante, as he rolled and ran to her left, projectiles landing into the trunks of trees. Jeanne growled, this was getting her nowhere, so she reached into the sky, concentrating on the idea of a weapon. 

Light coalesced into solid form, and in her hands, Jeanne held a silver halberd. She assumed a battle stance, and prepared for the onslaught. She caught Dante’s next blow with the staff, her the air around them sizzling with the clash of demonic and divine power. Dante growled as he pulled away, Jeanne stepped backwards in defense.

“How can I trust you? You came out of nowhere, and now you’re beginning to look like my mother.” Dante hissed, activating his Devil Trigger, starting a high speed assault on Jeanne, who could barely block half the blows. Her armour was gaining dents and the back of her knee was giving out. Dante continued his verbal attacks.

“Trish was made to lure me to Mallet, where Vergil died by my hands. If I was less attached to Eva, none of this would have happened!” Dante’s trigger dropped, and tears began streaking down his face. He raised Rebellion once more, as his mouth turned down into an ugly snarl, almost roaring as he delivered the hit. It shattered Jeanne’s weapon and plating, gold light dispelling both summons as she was left in her gown on the ground, warily eyeing the hunter as she caught her breath, healing kicking in.

“It wasn’t your fault!” Jeanne cried, as Dante turned away, headed to return to his vehicle. Jeanne picked herself up and limped towards him as quickly as she could. 

“Father, would you listen?” He turned, and glared, gun pointed at her seed’s location. She swallowed, licking her lips.

“I’ve listened to too many ghosts, why are you any different?” Dante whispered somberly, squeezing the trigger slowly. Jeanne’s eyes went wide, falling to her knees, the shot barely grazing the loosened strands of hair above her head. Dante clicked his tongue and moved to leave again.

“Because you wished for me. You gave me your blood, you cried out with your soul, father.” Jeanne pleaded, her own tears washing down her cheeks like waterfalls, her voice ripping into a scream as she felt despair and dread take root in her heart. 

“Heaven sent me because they failed you, your entire family,” Jeanne hiccupped, and Dante cast her a lazy glance, “Too long they just watched, and did nothing. But I’m here, now, doesn’t that mean anything?” Jeanne’s distress was almost too much, she plunged her own fingers into the flesh around the gem, pulling it from its perch. Blood dripped onto the ground, and Dante bristled, as the crystal was offered, connected by a single thread to its owner.

“If you’d rather I died, then you can end it. This nightmare, too, shall be banished.” 

\------

Above, the Listener was in a panic. 

The hunter’s soul was in turmoil, the answer had not been the one he had sought and now he was going to reject their offering. The guard, and every angel within it watched with bated breaths as they watched the scene unfold. If the hunter rejected their gift, then all was for nought. It couldn’t be tolerated, but they could also not interfere. 

The Right Hand held the Celestia, the halo unique to every angel, and hoped, dreaming of the grand angel that would eventually fit it.

If she survived.

\-------

Dante’s heart was beating so quickly he almost felt dead, the scent of Jeanne’s blood rekindling his protective nature. Now that he could smell it, he realised why it had triggered such a response. It wasn’t because he was a demon, it was because he was human, and this was human blood - like his own- that now fed the field around them. Jeanne was still in a state, head bowed and gem shaky in her grip. 

Dante dropped the Rebellion, slowly approaching Jeanne. He gently took the seed from her hand, and pushed it back into her chest. The girl gasped, the flesh slowly sealing once more, as Dante pulled her into another burning embrace. He stroked her back in circles, easing the tears to a halt, and steadying his heart. 

“Jeanne,” He murmured. She tightened her arms around him in the embrace, shivering from stress. 

“I’m sorry Jeanne. I hurt you, you’re just a kid.” Dante whispered into her ear. Jeanne shook her head, bringing their eyes to meet once more.

“If I can trust a devil, I can trust an angel, just this once.” Jeanne gave a shaky smile, nodding in reply.

“You have been hurt too,” Jeanne brushed Dante’s cheek with her hand, fresh tears threatening her eyes, throat worn from her earlier wailing, “I don’t want to cause you pain.” 

At that confession, Dante let the shame wrack through his frame, as he realised the depths of his own deception. He’d prevented himself from properly processing the grief from his encounter with Mundus, and now he’d thrown it all in the face of an innocent child, his child.

Dante helped his daughter off the ground, and led her back to the red corvette. 

“Let’s get you home, princess.” Dante said, giving Jeanne’s hand one last squeeze before he drove back for Devil May Cry.

\-------

Heaven rejoiced, hope sprung anew for the children of Sparda. 

\-----

It was well known in the city, at Devil May Cry you could hire two services, occult management, and domestic aid. In the months following their fight, Dante had mellowed, and his debt had been mind-bogglingly clear for at least half a year, giving next to no reason for Lady to even call the devil hunter. Jeanne had even managed to break his pizza habit, finding new favourites in spicy curries and rich, roast meals. Among her achievements, aside from the obvious cleanliness of the building, was getting Dante to at last replace his coat from the Dumary island excursion, granted it only caused him to return to the second oldest outfit he owned. 

The ripped sleeve of his first coat glared at Jeanne from its place in Dante’s wardrobe, but the hunter forbade her from fixing it, for the time being. 

The new year had brought several gifts, aside from a steady income, Jeanne now owned several bright purple dresses in varying cuts, and two ‘combat appropriate’ outfits. In the time between work, Jeanne would occupy herself with strumming softly on Nevan, the Devil Arm quietly appreciative of her gentle musicality. Dante took this time to indulge in reading. He’d been slowly working through the Divine Comedy, saying something about connecting to Sparda through his efforts. 

The shrill ring of the phone interrupted the quiet of the shop, Dante kicking the receiver into the air, it landed in his waiting hand.

“Devil May Cry. Ah, Morrison. You’re coming down?” Dante replaced the phone on its cradle, Jeanne shooting him a concerned glance. The hunter shrugged.

“Sounded important. Genie,” Jeanne placed Nevan down next to the drum set, hands neatly at her sides, awaiting her father’s request.

“Please, go get us some food.” She bowed, heading upstairs to gather refreshments. Nevan whispered into Dante’s ear, he could hear the coy smile on her lips.

“My, my, she’s almost nothing like you. Quiet, obedient. I almost mourn for you.” Dante responded with a bark of laughter. He honestly appreciated Jeanne’s introspective personality, it made dealing with the noise in his own head easier, when she’d so easily read his pain, soothing it with sweet foods, soft words and gentleness. 

“No, Nevan, I’d mourn for whoever had a kid like me. Must be a nightmare.” The Devil Arm giggled in reply, as Jeanne returned with fresh tea and muffins. 

\------

When Morrison came to the shop, a young, blonde girl followed him in. Dante had straightened in his seat, and Jeanne stood at his left shoulder, like a sentinel. 

“Morrison, I trust this is going to be good.” Dante remarked, the broker huffed, taking one of the offered cups, filling it with tea. The girl, Patty Lowell apparently, had taken exceptional interest in Jeanne, while Morrison and Dante talked through the finer points of the mission. Patty dared to reach out to touch Jeanne’s skirt, when Jeanne moved.

“Miss Lowell, I’d ask you to keep your hands to yourself.” Jeanne placed a small smile on her lips as Patty jumped backwards. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Morrison coughed, motioning towards Jeanne, “Patty, Jeanne here is Dante’s daughter.”

“What, you thought I kept a mannequin here? Get real, kid.” Dante bit into another strawberry frosted cake, watching as Patty regained her composure. Jeanne offered Dante his coat, the hunter shrugging on the garment, swallowing the last of his snack.

“How was I supposed to know she was real?” Patty sputtered, her silence now broken. Her cheeks flushed in shame, Jeanne disguising her mirth with her hands. Patty then turned on Dante, eyes full of fury, 

“You could be a creepy old man, for all I know! Why else do you have white hair?” Morrison laughed, as Dante folded in on himself, muttering about being old. Jeanne soon soothed him out of his state, chasing him into the garage to hasten him. 

Once everyone had left, Jeanne slid gracefully into her father’s seat, and waited.

\--------

“Dante, who is Jeanne’s mother?” Patty had been rather chatty during the trip, despite her earlier mood. As soon as they had entered the hotel, she’d been set on this particular topic, and it had only struck sorrowful chords in the hunter’s heart. 

He, too, had lost his mother to demons, and knew all too well the kinds of folk who got wrapped up in demonic schemes. He doubted very much that any return of Patty’s mother would bring good fortune. 

“Who knows? She only cares that I’m her dad. Look, Patty,” Dante sat up, and in the dim light he could see Patty’s apprehension painted all over her face. He sighed, “Every kid wants to know their parents are out there. It’s natural. Now, get some rest.” The hunter resumed his position on the couch, languid over its stiff, cheap foam.

\------

“Hello father,” Jeanne answered smoothly, picking up the receiver of the phone not a moment too soon. She listened to Dante’s explanation of the events that followed his departure patiently, noticing the dread in his voice. 

“Ah, I see. She declined the offer, then. Well, no use in being upset over her foolishness. Shall I expect both of you for dinner upon your return?” Jeanne smiled when her father replied with a solemn ‘yes’ before he hung up.

When at last Dante returned to his home, dusk was quickly swallowing the town in darkness. His shoulders sagged, meanwhile Patty seemed all the more exuberant. She was relaying some kind of scheme or story to Dante, until Jeanne had brought their attention to the table between the couches. 

“As wonderful as your conversation is, Miss Lowell,” Jeanne spoke icily, Patty withering under the slight glare she gave, “It can wait until tomorrow. Morrison will come and take you back to the orphanage in an hour.” The younger girl and Dante then swapped demeanours, the hunter suddenly relieved, and the false heiress now sullen. 

“All things considered, your employer was rather generous this time.” Jeanne remarked as she entered the payment into a balance book, neatly scribing in several columns for future expenditures. Dante hummed in response, leafing through the final few pages of Paradiso. Jeanne replaced her work in the bottom drawer of her father’s desk, waiting for him to snap his reading close. No sooner had the cover of his literature hit the top of his desk, Dante found his lap full of Jeanne. He held her close, letting himself ease into her affection.

“I can see something is on your mind, father. What is it?” Dante closed his eyes, breathing slowly. 

“Patty said her mom disappeared because she was the target of some demons. The way those things were out to kill her, it had to be more than just a fake fortune.” Jeanne’s face fell, as she considered the gravity of the situation surrounding Dante’s newest charge. Soon, she was asleep against his chest, comforted by the hunter’s warmth. 

\------

In growing lucidity, Jeanne was seeing visions of the boy with white hair and the scent of demons. He was often crying when she saw him, some new bruise swiftly yellowing on his pale skin, clothes worn ragged. 

But this was the first time when he’d seen her. 

The boy was sitting alone, in a field of moonlit grass, facing a pool of water, trees barricading the site from prying eyes. Jeanne was sitting on a rock at the edge of the water, when he’d lifted his eyes to meet hers. Recognition, hope and alarm rushed over his face, Jeanne also unsettled by this turn of events. 

“You,” the boy whispered, eyes narrowing and a hiss behind his teeth, “Who are you?” 

Despite her youth, nostalgia hit Jeanne like a wave, as she considered the first meeting between herself and her Earthly father. The boy was physically similar in age to herself, somewhere around fourteen, greasy, greyed hairs clung to his forehead, and the same pale blue eyes as her own were watching her intently. Jeanne gave him a gentle, warm smile. 

“I am...a reflection, for lack of better words.” Now that the tears had dried, Jeanne could see the resemblance the boy had with her father, except where his face was round, this boy was square. A severe jawline and even more severe scowl than Dante’s, a memory stirred from her first days in this world. 

_”There’s only one other candidate for parent.”_ Dante had said. Jeanne had no doubts that as soon as Dante saw this boy, it would reignite his deep-seated guilt and depression for his role in Vergil’s untimely demise. 

“Reflection, right. Sure you are.” The boy jumped to his feet, fleeing the field.


	3. Every day begins today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patricia Lowell inserts herself rather forcefully into the usual routine of the Devil May Cry way of life.

When Jeanne awoke, she found herself poorly swaddled in a wine red banket, laid on the couch closest to the window. She heard the water running from behind the back wall, instantly locating her father. She yawned, stretched, and was about to head for the kitchen, when the doors to the shop swung open, Patty Lowell’s shadow extending over the floorboards. 

“Where’s Dante? We still need to talk!” Patty whined, Jeanne grimaced. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if she liked the girl from what she’d seen, and she doubted her father would be glad to see her.

“He’s washing up, please wait here. Shall I get you some tea, Miss Lowell?” Jeanne invited Patty to the couch she had awoken upon, leaving for the kitchenette to prepare tea. With the brew in the pot, Jeanne returned swiftly down the stairs, Dante shaking off the last of the water from his hair as Patty set onto berating him for his lack of care.

“You’ll just make a mess like that!” Jeanne was quickly leaning towards dislike for the waif of a child, when Dante’s low rumbling chuckle broke her annoyance.

“If it annoys Genie, maybe then I’ll worry about my habits.” The hunter ruffled Patty’s hair, and serenity quickly returned to Jeanne, as she placed the tea tray onto the low table. Patty tilted her head, confused.

“Genie? Who’s that?” Jeanne let out a long-suffering sigh, attempting to banish her growing displeasure. 

“That would be father’s name for me. I do, after all, grant most of his wishes.” Jeanne decided that a small demonstration would not be out of place, and waved her hands, small runes made of light appearing on her palms. With a gentle twist and pull, a dish of fresh strawberries and cut apples flew down the stairs, landing gently between Dante’s elbows, as he leaned on his desk.

“Thanks, Genie.” The hunter threw a few pieces of fruit into his mouth, Patty watching, slack-jawed even as she took her teacup from Jeanne. 

“You may know, but Devil May Cry is more than a demon hunting business.” Dante spoke at last, after devouring most of his morning meal. Patty sipped delicately at her tea, listening to the explanation. 

“Sure, I go out and investigate spooky nonsense, but Genie here works as a domestic aid. Speaking of which,” Dante turned his full attention to Patty, who froze in her seat, “I do believe you were talking my ear off over what you were going to spend your new fortune on.” Patty’s eyes brightened, as she listed off ideas for decorating the shop, apparently rapt with the idea of occupying the place as much as possible. Jeanne’s innards rankled at the thought, she wasn’t sure she wanted to concede any control over her home to Patty, after all the girl wasn’t living here. 

Just as Patty moved to grab her bag, desperate to show Dante several magazines, Jeanne flung the object into the nearest closet, Patty yelped, rubbing her hand as if it had been burnt. 

“No, absolutely no frills. Do you truly not think, Miss Lowell? If people need us, they can find us, we have a phone number for a reason.” Jeanne hissed, Patty wilting in shame under the intensity of the gaze. Patty turned to Dante, but the hunter only shrugged. Shock gave way to indignance, and Patty yelled at Jeanne. 

“I do think, I think this place is a garbage heap! Look at all this junk!” Patty gestured wildly to the various instruments and furniture in the space. While it was sparse, the decor was rather tasteful, Jeanne had decided. Even with the huge, stone monster that occupied the back wall, at least the skulls that had been pinned by Devil Arms were long since removed. Jeanne shuddered to think what Patty would say about such things, had she seen them. 

“That is one way of saying it.” A new voice rang from the doorway, and Jeanne felt a shot of cold sweat rush down her body. Lady’s eyes locked onto Jeanne, and she bowed deeply. 

“Madam Lady! How good to see you again.” Jeanne’s voice cracked as the huntress approached her, Lady levelling a cool stare, before she shook her head and loosened her shoulders.

“You weren’t kidding about what you are then. Well, we can talk later. Dante,” Lady sauntered over to Dante’s desk, speaking with the hunter about a job dealing with some bikers on the highway. 

“Um, who is Madam Lady?” Patty tugged on Jeanne’s shoulder, Jeanne took a steadying breath as Lady gave her one last look before she left, Dante in tow. 

“She’s just Lady. She is one of my father's oldest friends.” 

\----

Jeanne took Patty to her job on the other side of town, listening to the girl ramble about her purchases for the orphanage children while they cleaned the apartment blocks of one Daniella Trismond. 

“Look at this place, would you Jeanne?” Patty sighed, wistfully eyeing the interior of the last apartment on the list. Like the rest of the block, the walls were a clean tusk colour, paired with grey-green carpeting and black and white marble tiling in any wet rooms. The furniture was modern, sleek and comfortable enough to sit on, and packed neatly together to give as much open space as possible. A few specks of green littered the rooms, plants of several kinds growing in black clay pottery. 

“I’m afraid Patty, that father is particular. I would blame my grandparents for that.” Jeanne clapped her hands together as she cast a spell on the mop water, the liquid taking on an eerie glow. Patty puffed her cheeks, her shoulders sinking.

“You say that like it’s normal.” Patty picked up the duster, and began sweeping it across the flat surfaces, while Jeanne wiped the floors and counter tops with the enchanted water. This morning, Jeanne was almost ready to forsake her holy nature just to smite Patty, but since she had done nothing but listen to the girl, she pitied her. Unlike her father, Patty hadn’t had any time with her birth mother, and so she didn’t understand the hunter’s peculiarities, his attachments to his corvette, the jukebox, or his apparent aversion to any kind of sociable behaviour. 

Dante had lost much, in a short amount of time, whereas Patty has had almost nothing to lose for herself.

Once their tasks had been completed, Jeanne guided Patty back to the orphanage. She’d never feel at ease around the place, its impossibly tall iron fencing keeping the children inside, and the basic, brick buildings lacking any sense of kindness. It looked like it was a prison in a former life, or a sanitarium, and Jeanne found comfort in neither possibility, as Patty entered the grounds, separating them at last. 

Upon her return to the shop, the stench of an unfamiliar demon struck her nerves, as she slammed the doors shut. She reached out for her spectral senses, the interloper located behind her home, climbing the wall. Jeanne growled as she energised the wards of Devil May Cry, holy power flowing into the very foundations, and the intruder screamed. Jeanne was out the back in a flash, staring at her prey, a wall-eyed demon dressed in shabby clothes and a general unpleasantness.

“Leave at once, and never return.” Jeanne threatened, drawing out her halberd, spear end at the demon’s jugular. This spurred the creature into action, as he jumped up and fled the scene over rooftops. Dismissing her weapon, Jeanne considered the wards protecting her home, it would be troublesome if she had to keep actively controlling them, especially with Patty now inserting herself into the business.

Jeanne made a small prayer for forgiveness. 

It was time to embrace magic. 

\-----

There was a reason Dante didn’t like magic, beyond the fact he sucked at it. It was because normally magic used a lot of energy, which was why he was more than a little upset when he came home only to find Jeanne passed out on the floor, chalk in hand, book beside her form.

“Jeanne!” He snapped, his daughter awake in an instant, knife at the ready. Once she had appraised the situation, she gave a sheepish laugh, face flushed. 

“Father! You’re home. How was-” Dante pushed Jeanne none too gently into the couch, as he stared down at her work, rage sloughing off his face, replaced by deep concern. 

“Jeanne, what happened? Why the ward?” Jeanne rose to her feet, approaching the hunter cautiously. 

“There was a demon outside, today. The current wards only work if one of us is here to power them, father-” Dante hushed his daughter, pulling her swiftly to his chest, holding her tightly. 

“Okay.... Okay. Just, maybe next time,” Dante took a shaky breath, Jeanne listening to his heartbeat steady, “Maybe next time don’t knock yourself out.” Releasing his daughter from his arms, Dante carefully stepped around the chalk markings towards his desk, and dialled a familiar number on the phone.

“Hello. Yes. Two large pizzas, please. One with the works, no olives, and one vegetarian. Thank you.” With the order placed, Dante allowed himself to sink into his chair, resting Rebellion against the edge of his desk. Jeanne quickly swept up the mess on the floor, retrieving a glass of water for each of them.

“I know you don’t like to fight, but something is up with this whole town.” Dante spoke somberly as he drank, Jeanne resolutely silent until her father finished his thought. 

“Training for you tomorrow, no excuses.” An easy, sly grin came to his features, and Jeanne felt dread creep into her bones, “I’m going to kick your ass seven ways to Sunday, until you can stop me.”

“I understand, father.”

\-----

The next morning, Patty arrived at ten, and she’d been thrown into the back of the corvette without a single word. Today, Jeanne was wearing dark jeans, hiking boots and a long sleeve black t-shirt emblazoned with a red dragon. Her hair had been pinned up into a braid that went all the way around her head, and she was grimacing, while Dante looked far too smug. Patty felt deeply perturbed. 

“Guys, where are we going?” She cried at last, gripping her bag to her chest tightly. Jeanne flinched as Dante burst into laughter, 

“Out of town. Jeanne has a date with the dirt!” Dante snickered as Jeanne sunk into her chair more, uneasy. Patty tilted her head, what was Dante talking about?

Apparently Dante was feeling rather jovial today, as he danced around in a circle, parrying Jeanne’s strikes with his blade, halberd and sword clashing in sparks and loud clangs. At times Dante would distance himself and throw his weapon, or shoot haphazardly at Jeanne, which the girl would try to run from. 

“Whatcha running for, Genie? You’ll never win a fight by being a coward!” Dante teased, launching Rebellion once more, it sailed towards Jeanne without much resistance. Patty winced at the impact, she hadn’t seen Dante fight much, but the man was ruthless in her eyes, a real combat expert. Fear struck Patty as Jeanne braced for the strike, light exploding from her body. 

Patty looked in awe, as Jeanne clasped the handle of her father’s sword, feathered wings gently wrapping around her shoulders, golden gloves now coating her hands. With a look of determination, Jeanne threw the blade into the air, another shine of light summoning a large, stringless silver bow. Dante waited, guns at the ready, as Jeanne shot Rebellion back at the hunter, a satisfying twang from the magic string. The blade found its home in Dante’s chest. 

“Am I a coward now?” Jeanne spat. 

Patty screamed.

\-----

Dante was still grinning like the cheshire cat as he picked up another spoonful of strawberry sundae. Jeanne was still fuming quietly, Patty berating them both for their explosive displays of power, and how much of a heart attack she’d had at the sight of Dante’s impalement. Jeanne placed her hand on Patty’s head, the girl’s rambling put to an end by the motion. 

“Father,” Jeanne finally spoke, Patty watching the interaction closely. Dante leaned forward, baring a toothy grin. 

“If you insist on this type of training, then I accept. I won’t lose.” Dante chortled, Jeanne giving him a rarely seen scowl. 

“Of course. Course you will, wontcha? I look forward to it, princess.” Jeanne visibly relaxed, eating her own chocolate sundae with as much grace as she could manage. Patty’s eyes fell back to her empty plate, lamenting the loss of her velvet cake. She’d barely even tasted it. 

It was hardly afternoon, which was why Patty was now enthusiastically explaining why Dante had a lack of style when it came to interior design. Jeanne had returned to her previous work, inking new wards into her book, testing them with a pulse of power. Dante was only somewhat paying attention, reading a magazine he’d randomly picked up from the newsagency. 

“...so I think you need to change it!” Patty finished, as she laid out several pieces of paper, each one covered in snippets of advertisements, as if to display a potential change of appearance for Devil May Cry. Dante cast his eyes over them, before he promptly threw them into the nearest bin, Patty stilled in disbelief. (She’d spent ages on those papers!)

“Genie, do you think this place is, what was it? A junk pile?” Dante placed his reading down on his lap, Jeanne raising her eyes to meet his. 

“Even if I had the funds to redecorate this place, father,” Jeanne shook her head, “You’re the owner. It is your choice, and yours alone.” Dante seemed to consider this for a moment, diving into his desk drawers to pick out two items, the balance book and the title deed. 

“Good point, Genie. You can take… this much, and go and assuage Patty’s desires.” Dante scribbled something quickly into one of the columns, then snapped the book shut and threw it back into its abode, away from Patty’s inquisitive eyes. He swept up the papers on his desk, and passed the still stunned Patty, handing Jeanne a cheque. Jeanne studied the amount, sighed, and roused Patty from her stupor. 

“Very well, father. Patty, I shall change, and then we can go.” Dante shot her a two fingered salute, sauntering out of the shop.

\------

One of the few magic tricks that Dante had learned, and was quite good at, was convincing people to believe him. Jeanne’s remark about ownership had reminded him, the girl had been alive for half a year, and she still had no formal identity. He was currently charming the young clerk at the town hall into signing off on all his forms, granting Jeanne citizenship to Capulet City, as well as officially registering her as his daughter, even signing her into the title deed for the shop. (Thought he doubted he’d die anytime soon)

With the clerk thoroughly blushing from Dante’s flirting, the hunter left the town hall with a new document wallet tucked into his coat. One job down, and one more to go, Dante made a quick left turn down the following street, headed towards Rock Goldstein’s new haunt. The shop was small, tucked against the bottom of an office complex, bars covering the frosted windows, the shopfront made from concrete. Opening the door chimed a bell, and from behind the counter came a call for patience. Rock Goldstein then appeared, smiling brightly when he discovered the identity of his customer. 

“Dante, good to see you. Hope I haven’t made any new spelling errors.” With a shared chuckle, Dante dismissed the older man’s concerns.

“Nah, nothing like that. I’m actually here to make a custom order, can you help me?” Dante reached into his coat, pulling out his own arms, Ebony and Ivory. Rock raised his brow. 

“Nell made these impossible to break with my power. Can you make something similar?” Rock lifted the pair of pistols, studying them, nodding cautiously. 

“I can try, Dante. Who’s it for?” Rock dove under the counter, looking for a particular book.

“It’s for my daughter. Long story short, she’s going to need something reliable at all times.” Dante spoke nonchalantly, but Rock sputtered in surprise. Dante hadn’t mentioned a child ever before, and looking at the man, he didn’t figure him to be a fatherly type. The look in Dante’s eyes however, Rock couldn’t shake the unease from his system.

“She uh, young?” Rock enquired. Dante shook his head, dismissing any further questions with his reply.

“I was hoping you could make a rifle, something to help keep her distance.” Rock took his chin into his hand, thoughtfully stroking his small beard. 

“I suppose I can manage that. Have the little lady come in when I call. Until then, Dante.” 

\-----

Jeanne and Patty’s expedition resulted in the walls of the shop turning a pleasant green print, dark green stripes and fleur de lis against a paler backing shade. New wall lights sat in their boxes, waiting for installation, and a plain grey rug took up the center of the room, running from the door to Dante’s desk. A palm was potted into the couch corner, the instruments and jukebox arranged on the windowless side, a new two seater, black leather couch ensconced under the stairs leading up into the residential part of the shop, beside which was the mini bar fridge. 

Jeanne pressed a button on the jukebox, a soft classical piano tune playing through its speakers. Patty yawned, exhausted from the shopping trip and the following clean-up and decorating work. The girl was about to fall asleep when Dante arrived, springing inside, startling her out of her almost-nap. 

“Patty, you should go home.” Jeanne tutted, lifting the smaller girl by the shoulders, leading her to the door. Dante watched, amused, as Patty began trudging home under the orange sky. Jeanne let out a sigh, before collapsing against Dante’s side. 

“I think I’ve had enough of her for a lifetime.” Jeanne felt Dante’s hand pat her shoulders, her father huffing in bemusement. 

“You know, I had wondered how long it would take to crack you. Normally, you’re the image of stoicism.” Dante spun his daughter around, taking in the new look of his home. He hummed, appreciating the new colours. 

“Normally I don’t have prolonged contact with anyone but you, or Morrison.” Jeanne moaned, she couldn’t sleep yet, there were still some things to be done. Jeanne detached from her father and touched the box of lights with her foot. 

“If you could put these up, I’ll put the new wards in place. Then we eat, and finally I can sleep.” Dante frowned at her, crossing his arms. 

“You haven’t slept lately, have you? Jeanne-” His daughter hissed at the mention of her name, a sharp click of her fingers summoning a pen to her hand. 

“This discussion can wait, father. As soon as this place is properly safe, I will sleep.” Jeanne dismissed herself, the music changing into a soft rock piece. 

Dante looked at the lamps around the room. 

He hoped Jeanne was okay.

\----

With a flourish, the final line of the ward was finished, the magical ink singing with power once she covered the design with her blood. Nothing could climb the wall now, not without getting a nasty shock, at least. 

Jeanne didn’t mean to get angry with Dante, but she couldn’t sleep, the face of that boy haunted her dreams, more and more bruises forming on his arms and legs. He’d finally found a home, but it hadn’t lasted. The parents had been killed by demons, and now he, the girl and the other boy were under the care of the Order. Something about the dreams always set Jeanne’s sense for danger alight, and so she avoided sleeping when she could. Patty had put her at the limit, and her eyelids had never felt heavier, as she handed her father a bowl of reheated pumpkin soup. 

Jeanne didn’t really notice when Dante caught her as she fell forward in her attempt to climb the stairs, she also didn’t notice when he nestled beside her to sleep himself.


	4. The Lady Eternal arrives on the Morrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things may have fallen into a rhythm, but school holidays cause a descent into demonic madness at a frightening pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the image the anime projects for Lady, she's a cool, calm cat. Love that aspect of her character.

The boy was once more in the grove, and when Jeanne finally saw him, he growled lowly. 

“You,” the boy spat, pointing a kitchen knife towards her. Jeanne swallowed, preparing herself in case of engagement.

“Yes. Me.” Jeanne whispered, the boy lowering his weapon. She supposed it was simply a promise if she proved a threat.

“I’m Jeanne,” she folded her hands into her lap, summoning whatever peace and patience she had. She needed to know more about this boy, and why he’d plagued her dreams since her manifestation. 

“Jeanne, huh. Where are you from? Why are you here?” The boy leveled her an ugly glare, a snarl on his lips. Jeanne took in her surroundings, no obvious city skylines, only a mass of trees behind her, and a path in the distance. 

“I’m in Capulet City, and I was hoping you could tell me,” Jeanne reached out for the boy, “Why is your soul so sad?” 

Instead of an answer, the boy’s eyes went wide, and he slashed her palm with his knife, stabbing it into her shoulder as she froze in shock, before he ran for the path out of the forest.

\-----

Dante was burning up, he didn’t care though. 

Jeanne needed him, and so he held her steady as random bursts of divine power spurted from her body. The energy finally subsided as Jeanne opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to banish the sleepiness she still felt. In her father’s arms, she felt like she was overheating, until control returned, and divinity and demonic came to rest. 

“Morning, princess. Bad dream?” Dante asked, squeezing her one more time to his chest. Jeanne let out a shaky breath, inspecting her palm. 

“You could say that, yes.” Jeanne whispered, disentangling from Dante. She noticed the light that was just pouring into the room, and decided it was pointless trying to go back to sleep. 

“Would you like pancakes?” Jeanne yawned, climbing out of the bed carefully, sweeping up a handful of unwashed garments from the floor. 

“Sure, Genie.” Dante replied, getting out of bed himself, a large red welt soon receding from his bare chest. Jeanne cringed, that had been because of her, and whatever that boy had done in the dream. 

\-----

In the residential part of the shop, was a long room occupied by a large table that matched the desk downstairs, with a variety of wooden chairs surrounding it. Because the room was so rarely used, it was treated as a pseudo storage room, where various books and demonic artefacts had found their homes in the shelves around the walls. Jeanne was preparing the room for breakfast, since Patty, Lady and Morrison had decided it would be appropriate to harass Dante at eight in the morning. Grateful for the chance to take her mind off the nightmarish encounter with the boy, Jeanne had thrown herself into making enough pancakes and berry compote to satisfy the guests and her father, despite her own lack of stomach. 

Dante brought the party upstairs, settling them into seats around the upper end of the table, opening the windows to allow the sunlight into the room. Jeanne soon returned with two trays of breakfast necessities, tea and coffee, and the pancakes and compote. She poured a black coffee for Morrison, a tea for Patty, and two white coffees for Lady and Dante, and a final tea for herself. She watched as everyone else helped themselves to the spread, having chosen to eat a pear and some yoghurt. Dante was eyeing her, eyes glowing a soft red, and Jeanne only felt herself shrink further inwards. Lady elbowed Dante, the hunter’s concentration broken.

“You’re looking at her like she tried to ban you from eating pizza,” Morrison chuckled, receiving a refill for his drink. Dante shook his head, leaning back in his seat, considering the ceiling with narrowed eyes.

“No, no. But Genie,” at her name, Jeanne froze, turning slowly to face her father, “What happened? Normally you don’t _explode_ in holy energy. Was it a dream?” Patty’s eyebrows furrowed as the conversation turned to Jeanne.

“In the dream,” Jeanne felt a tingle in her palm, remembering the sensation of the injury spreading across her flesh, “The boy, he...He struck me with a knife. First he slashed my hand, and then he drove it into my shoulder.” Jeanne grimaced as Dante reached for her hands, his eyes flashing red as he scanned for damage. 

“That’s concerning,” Lady commented coolly, swirling her mug around, “Can they really just be dreams, if he can see you, and hurt you?” Jeanne frowned, focusing on the table to avoid meeting the barely contained anger in her father’s eyes, and the worry on Lady’s features.

“Honestly, I don’t know. For some time now, the dreams have become more and more vivid. At first,” Jeanne poured more tea into her cup, collecting her thoughts, “At first, there were only impressions, like I was looking at photos. Then, it was like watching his life all out of order, I think.” Patty was thoroughly confused, everyone else in the room seemed to know exactly what was going on, and it annoyed her.

“Hey, what’s this about Jeanne and dreams?” Patty all but demanded, which caused Dante to shoot a glare in her direction, the girl shrivelling in her seat.

“Patty,” Dante sighed, “Jeanne and I aren’t normal, you know that much.” Jeanne called for the dishes, Lady volunteering to aid her in the cleaning effort. Patty listened with rapt attention as Dante began regaling his story.

“About six months ago,” Dante cast a loose nod in the direction of the kitchen, “I made a wish, and that’s how Jeanne came to be. Since then, we’ve been learning how to get along, since she’s an angel and I’m part demon.” Morrison opened the window behind him, lighting a cigarette between his teeth, only partially listening to the conversation.

“You’re...like those monsters you kill?” Patty asked, eyes wide in horror, as she remembered the creatures that she saw at the theatre. Dante shook his head, 

“Not like them, no. I’m more human than devil, but Jeanne is definitely more angel than human. She hates fighting, she can use magic, and read someone’s very soul. The dreams, they’re a part of all that.” Dante stood from his seat, crossing his arms as he looked out at the day from his window.

“I should have been harder from the beginning about her training. If it’s not really a dream, she needs to be ready for anything.” Morrison huffed a laugh as he closed the window he’d been using to satisfy his craving.

“You love her too much Dante, it’s why you want to protect her.” Dante chose not to respond, instead closing the curtains, returning the room to darkness.

“You’re her daddy, trust in that much,” Dante turned for the door, “You wouldn’t ask her to fight any more than you’d ask her to fall into Hell.” Morrison rumbled, giving the hunter pause. 

No, he wouldn’t ask her to change her nature, because he was actually beginning to love her.

Just like he was once loved, himself.

\--------

“I go away for six months, and when I come back,” Lady’s voice was bordering on mirthful, “You’re already a teenager. What happened, Jeanne?” 

Jeanne sighed, leaning into the cupboard, rolling up her dress’ long sleeves and retrieving some rubber gloves.

“Normally, angels mature within days. Depending on the species,” Lady settled herself on the bar stool near the stove, Jeanne speaking cautiously, “Because I’m nephilim, I suspect it took longer because of the human part of me.” 

“Would it be wrong to assume you have demonic parts? You are, after all, _Dante’s kid_.” Lady looked over the kitchen as she waited for Jeanne’s reply. The room was small, filled with a sink, counter, stove and oven, and a fridge next to the door, black and white linoleum flooring against grey walls, smaller windows above the sink and stove. Jeanne’s soft response brought Lady out of her observations.

“Demons and angels are not so far apart. If you meant, do I have any of _Sparda’s_ power? That remains to be seen. I haven’t used Rebellion enough to be sure.” Jeanne scrubbed at the dishes, the soft sounds of suds and water soothing her hackled nerves from breakfast.

“Father and I had a fight not long after my maturation. Since then, I’ve refrained from any kind of fight practice. Instead, I began practicing magic.” She continued to tell Lady of the events that followed the fight, the discovery of Dante’s lack of magical ability and his distrust for the art, which Lady confirmed with a memory or two of her own of the time after the Temen-ni-Gru incident. In the weeks following their fight, Jeanne had taken up odd jobs around their neighbourhood, cleaning up and mending the various apartments and small cafes that littered the downtown area while Dante was out working. It had been the manager of Love Planet that landed her a job in a more professional capacity, and the extra money was always welcomed in the shop, paying for the food, preventing an influx of pizza boxes. 

Slowly, over the past half a year, Dante had opened up to Jeanne, telling her about his nightmares, about the family she’d never meet. Sparda, Vergil, Eva, each of their disappearances from his life more tragic than the last, and while wholly unconfirmed, he’d heard whispers of Sparda during his time in Hell. He’d heard that Mundus had captured him and sent him to walk the entire perimeter of Hell, heard that he’d been melted down into a soul, and consumed, or that he was slaving away at the Forge, creating endless amounts of new demons. Jeanne was wiping down the cupboard at last, as she ran out of stories to regale, Lady thoroughly intrigued by each development. 

“Since I’ve been here, he’s been at ease,” Jeanne replaced the towels on the oven handle to dry, finally finishing her tasks, “He’s not here with only his thoughts to keep him company.” 

“That’s good to hear. Both my wallet and I do _so much better_ when he’s in a good mood.” Lady and Jeanne shared a small giggle, both aware of Dante’s spending habits and reckless behaviour at times.

\-------

In the shop foyer, Patty had settled in to her homework, while Dante and Morrison were playing a game of pool. When Jeanne at last arrived at the foot of the stairs behind Lady, Dante called his daughter to his side, hugging her with his left arm briefly.

“You feeling better, Genie?” Dante gave her a lop-sided smile as he watched his shot fail miserably, the white ball sinking into the corner pocket. 

“A bit, yes, thank you father.” Jeanne nodded affirmatively, the hunter’s smile growing a bit brighter. 

“Good to hear, Miss Jeanne.” Morrison tilted his hat towards the girl, who bowed in kind. Lady stepped up to the pool table, beginning to retrieve the balls from their various pockets to reset the game.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get a move on. Ladies, Dante,” Morrison tipped his hat again, before hustling out the door. Jeanne seated herself on the couch opposing Patty, calling Nevan to her, the guitar floating into her grasp. A few metallic clinks later, and the demonic instrument changed shape into a harp, upon which Jeanne began strumming a few scales. Upon seeing this, Lady was reminded of Jeanne’s earlier remark, regarding how much of Sparda’s power she might have, if any. 

“So I hear you haven’t trained your daughter,” Lady shot the white ball effortlessly into a cluster of three, two of them landing in a pocket, “But she can use Devil Arms?” 

Dante clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers absently to the beat of Jeanne’s music, “Well, I wouldn’t call Nevan a weapon in her hands. Not unless you consider classical music dangerous.” Dante huffed a laugh, thinking of Vergil’s love for the genre. Lady sighed, watching as Dante finally won a game by sinking the final four balls.

“Alright, well, what’s the hold up?” Jeanne’s scales turned into a theme that seemed vaguely familiar to Lady, a mellow chromatic opening leading into a waltz. 

“Right now? Waiting on a call from Goldstein about a rifle I ordered. With any luck,” Dante stretched his arms upwards, cracking a few knuckles in his back with audible pops, “It’ll be just like my pistols.” 

“But it doesn’t help that she doesn’t want to fight.” Lady turned to watch Jeanne, her fingers deftly plucking at the electric strings, waltz turning into more frantic scales. Dante shrugged.

“I won’t force her to be ready before she is,” Dante whispered, a wistful look in his eyes, “Because she deserves that much. I won’t let her life be like mine, if I can help it.” 

Lady patted his shoulder, signalling her intention for departure.

“Just one giant softie, aren’t you, Dante?” 

“Don’t tell anyone now, ya hear?” Dante quipped in reply, gaining a snicker from his hunting compatriot.

\------

In the days following that breakfast, Jeanne had managed to glean some key information from Patty. It was school holidays, which was why Patty could come so frequently and so early to the shop, and why she was doing homework between cleaning jobs. 

“I would stay at the orphanage,” Patty shouted over the vacuum cleaner’s whirring, “But there’s something weird there! I feel like I’m being watched!” 

That deeply disturbed Jeanne, thinking of the impossibly high iron fences and archaic buildings that made up Patty's current home. She thought about asking her father to investigate, but it would be a waste of his time if it turned out to be nothing. Jeanne glanced at her watch, time was coming close to five in the evening. 

"Come stay with me tonight, I doubt even if father came home early, that he'd turn you away in a hurry." Jeanne gripped Patty's shoulder a little harshly, the girl wincing slightly at the touch. Jeanne whispered an apology as they finished packing the cleaning supplies away. 

Once they'd made their way back to Devil May Cry, Jeanne set about preparing Patty bedding, pulling a thickened blanket from the shared bedroom, tucking it neatly around the couch and throwing another, thinner sheet over the top. Completing this task, Jeanne rushed up the stairs again to gather some type of meal, Patty watching quietly as she took care of her guest's needs. To her, Jeanne was still distant, mysterious and sometimes cold when Patty got too excited. Learning Jeanne was not entirely human, Patty still wasn't sure how to process it. Should she ask Jeanne about what it was like to be an angel? Was there _really_ a God? Did he look like they painted him in those dusty old pictures in her art books? Why was she so upset over what was, probably, Patty's imagination? 

"I'm sorry, Patty, it's not much but we do have some leftover quiche. We'll have to go shopping tomorrow." Jeanne nodded to her tray, two small plates covered in eggy deliciousness and a salad on the side. 

"That's not a problem, really," Patty assured Jeanne, the older girl nibbling at her meal, "But what's got you so nervous? It's probably nothing…" Patty mumbled, embarrassed, as she too began eating. 

"Patty, hopefully you'll never understand." Jeanne lamented. 

\-----

When Dante finally waltzed into his shop, dawn light glowing behind him, he saw Jeanne give him a sign for quiet. With an open, graceful palm movement, she motioned to the still asleep Patty, snoring quietly on the couch. The hunter nodded, carefully walking towards Jeanne's position at the desk. No sooner had he reached the wooden object, did the phone release a shrill ring, rousing Patty.

"Tsk," Jeanne hissed, grabbing the receiver, "Devil May Cry." She answered smoothly, brows knitted angrily until she heard the speaker on the other end of the call.

"Oh, OH. Yes Mister Goldstein, I am. Absolutely. We'll be there shortly, thank you very much, I'll let him know." Dante and Patty turned to her, confused expressions on their faces as Jeanne replaced the phone and rose from her position at the desk, smoothing her skirt out.

"Mister Goldstein has prepared your order, father. He expects us within an hour, payment upfront." Jeanne relayed, considering her outfit, twirling the hem of her dress in her hands. Dante nodded thoughtfully, waving to Patty.

"It'd be best if you go home, Patty. We'll see you tomorrow." The hunter's voice rumbled lowly as his eyes glowed a soft, dangerous red, a single blink returning them to their familiar blue. Patty nodded, said 'okay, see you later', leaving as Jeanne retreated upstairs to grab a change of clothes.

"If you have washing, father, I’ll get it going while we’re gone!" Jeanne yelled downstairs, heading straight for the shower room in the back.

Minutes later, Jeanne was dressed in compression pants, denim shorts with a red tank and purple hoodie, completed with her combat boots. She threw her mildly damp hair into a tight plait, Dante throwing all the Devil Arms he still owned into cases in the trunk of his car, despite their grumbles and protests about a lack of use, and the threat of ending up in the hands of Enzo. Dante dismissed their concerns and frustrations with a shield of nonchalance, watching as Jeanne fell into the passenger seat.

“Read my mind, Genie.” Dante chuckled as he pulled out of the garage, the corvette purring as it turned onto the road, racing for its destination on the other side of town. Placed between the neat and clean steel and glass of the skyscrapers and the historical storefronts that made up the shopping district, the slab that formed the front of Rock Goldstein’s humble arms shop seemed out of place. Jeanne waited patiently at the door, rapping on it softly, while Dante parked their ride some distance away. Her knocking was answered by a gruff voice, and three bolts clicking out of lock position, the stocky figure of Rock Goldstein taking up the doorway. He looked down at Jeanne, adjusting his eyepatch and shirt as he welcomed the young lady.

“You must be Dante’s girl. What’s your name?” Rock asked casually, Jeanne marvelling at the weapons behind Rock’s shoulder. Dante soon returned, planting a hand solidly on Jeanne’s shoulder, bringing her out of her daze with a yelp, Rock chuckling under his breath.

“This is Jeanne. Jeanne, Rock Goldstein, his mother made my favourite hand cannons.” Rock welcomed the pair indoors, talking about some breed of weaponry or another, Dante mentioning he should probably call Lady for her advice later. Jeanne was ushered to a folding part of the counter, being pushed behind its confines and into a workshop, within which was a table set up with an array of pieces. Between the pieces was a schematic for the weapon they would make, and Rock gestured for Jeanne to approach. He pulled a stool out from under the table, waving around the collection of parts. 

“Right here, you’ll find everything you need to make this right here,” he flicked the paper over, revealing more detailed instructions on the back, and another sheet beneath with a checklist, “I figured you ain’t even cleaned one of these before so, here’s all the directions.”

Jeanne considered the sheets, reading intently, glancing up to her father. Dante shrugged, crossing his arms and leaned against the back wall, Rock mirroring the hunter, and the pair began talking about possibly getting a drink. Jeanne returned to the papers, her fingers running over the pencilled words and inked designs. She thought for a moment, turning her hands over a few of the larger pieces, in particular the scope, looking through its lens at Dante, who shot her a quizzical look. 

“I need to put this together,” Jeanne spoke cautiously, “because the weapon needs to recognise my energy, right?” At the shrugs of both Dante and Rock, Jeanne sighed. She swept her palm over the illustrated schematic, magic pouring into the page, an illuminated outline of the weapon appearing before her. Rock made a surprised exclamation, as the parts flew into place, screws and bolts clicking together effortlessly as Jeanne held the projected image steady, concentrating on the creation. Once it was done, the rifle clanked onto the table, completed, both hunter and gunsmith approaching to inspect the gun. 

“Well, it seems alright.” Rock breathed, checking the releases and various other functionalities of the barrel and stock, handing it to Dante for his own once-over. Dante flicked it between his hands, feeling its weight, then looked through the scope at Jeanne, who waited patiently to receive her new arm. 

“That’s a pretty good trick ya got there, girl. Wish I could do that too.” Rock lamented, as Dante handed him a stack of cash, laughing breathily in agreement about the rigors of weapon creation and care, remembering his own history with guns at Bobby’s Cellar. 

“If ya have a name,” Rock said, pointing at the veritable cannon in Jeanne’s arms, “I can put it on right now. Otherwise, come back when you’re ready.” Jeanne considered this, looking at the item in her grasp, the cool black metal, its dull sheen to prevent it from being obviously spotted at distance, the way it crackled softly with holy power.

“I think, mister Goldstein…”  
\-------  
_The Long Kiss_ lived up to its name as Jeanne landed yet another round in her father’s chest, Dante stumbling from the impact. She moved out of her spot in the upper branches of the tree to find another perch elsewhere, where Dante wouldn’t be able to hit her.

The three shots to her shoulder were still aching, even with her accelerated healing, she was new to this whole _training_ thing, and what it entailed. For the moment, Dante had sent her to practice with her rifle, firing it from strategic locations to hit the hunter. After six missed shots, fourteen to his legs and arms and this final one to his chest, she was beginning to make sense of the instructions he’d given her.

_”You’re half-angel. With any luck,” Dante explained as he shrugged off his coat, “That means you can sniff a demon from about a mile away.” He then proceeded to produce his own weaponry, Ebony and Ivory, and began to explain how he used them._

_“Haven’t fired a real bullet in about fourteen years, instead it’s all concentrated demonic power. Think of it like,” Dante paused, flicking the guns around his finger as he searched for an explanation for Jeanne to hold onto. Finally he found one,_

_“Think of it like you’re using your feathers, but instead they’re going through the barrel. Eventually it’ll be second nature to you.”_

Jeanne remembered using her feathers in that first fateful fight, how she’d manipulated them from her wings, able to change their direction ever so slightly. With _The Long Kiss_ , it was surprisingly similar, as she thought about bending the path of the bullet slightly, able to influence it to land where she wanted it to, mostly. She found herself tiring quickly, and in her final leap to the top of the next tree, she lost her purchase and fell gracelessly to the forest floor. Her yelp brought her father to her location rather quickly, and he helped her up, wincing when he saw Jeanne’s (fast healing, but still) broken left arm, her rifle against her right side. 

“Hey princess,” Dante patted the top of Jeanne’s hair, causing strands to loosen, “Is it time to get back to the castle?” Jeanne yawned, nodding despite her bleary eyes that she was rapidly blinking to try and stay awake. Dante took her gun from her hands, the girl clicking her left elbow back into place, the bone finally set. Jeanne collapsed into the passenger seat, sluggishly falling downwards into the plush leather, closing her eyes. 

When Dante returned again to Devil May Cry, the clock displayed proudly that it was still only three or so in the afternoon, and so he placed Jeanne carefully onto the couch that Patty had been occupying, pulling up the sheet that swamped the much smaller girl. With the peaceful way Jeanne usually slept, hands clasped over her chest and shallow breaths, it felt to Dante like he was preparing a cadaver more than comforting his living daughter, but it was oddly soothing, and he figured it was something his mother had probably done for him many years ago. 

Finding himself with some time, Dante turned the jukebox to a subtle, folksy number and went to his desk, picking out a fresh book from the small stack he kept in the cupboard.

He was only mildly frustrated when Lady burst into his shop, preventing him from learning of Urizen, and awakening Jeanne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pieces Jeanne plays on Nevan are Final Fantasy Prelude, to Zanarkand and finally the FF4 Overworld theme.


	5. Catching Lighting in your hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last Trish meets Jeanne, and Jeanne gets her first hunting assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give me feedback on anything you think I should go back and double-check.

“Jeanne, go to bed.” Dante instructed, Jeanne looking at him through a squint, desperate for more sleep. She nodded, picking herself up slowly, wobbling as she moved forward. Lady was about to demand answers from the hunter, when in a blur of red, he fled his desk to catch Jeanne, the girl delirious in his arms.

“Shall I get you a pizza, father? It’s been a while…” Jeanne yawned, nestling closer to his chest, allowing herself to relax in his embrace. Dante sighed, excusing himself as he took Jeanne back upstairs, placing her on top of the red sheets, settling the pillows and curtains _just so_ , so that Jeanne would have the warmth of the sun on her back as she laid on her side, facing the doorway. 

“We have a long way to go, princess.” Dante whispered, brushing a stray clump of hair from her face, he gently squeezed her shoulder before departing from the room.  
\--------  
This time, the setting wasn’t the grove, rather, it was a tiny bedroom, two wooden beds, a small bookshelf between them, and a chest at the foot of each. The boy from before was laying on his back, face pleasantly clear of any violent emotions for once. Jeanne thought to approach, when the boy stirred on his own, as the door opened, revealing the one called Credo. Jeanne knew this young man from watching the fragmented memories, his rather severe expression at all times, his care for the boy and the girl, his sister Kyrie. Credo leaned down towards the sleeping form of the boy, listening for a few beats, before standing back up.

“I’m sorry Nero, I should have been more careful.” 

It took Jeanne a moment to process, despite her gift of tongues. She hadn't realised it when she was speaking to the boy alone, but now it was clear. The young man was speaking Italian, and the way he said Nero, it was this boy’s name. Despite his pallor, and the white hair and blue eyes, they called him _black_.  
Whatever Credo said to himself didn’t matter, Jeanne’s mind was in a spin. Italian, so somewhere in the mediterranian, that’s where she’d find Nero.  
She needed to find Nero. You don’t get called black because of irony, you get named like that for a litany of reasons.

Like your birth father abandoning your mother.

Like your mother abandoning you at the orphanage.  
\-----  
Dante had met Trish again when he went to the mayor of Capulet City, she was cruising around on her bike as usual, and the two caught up at last, after the Dumary incident. It wasn’t surprising that she’d heard of Lady during her travels around the country, and much less so that she wanted to face the huntress on her own merits. It didn’t make him much happier to have to explain the situation to Lady though, when she came in demanding answers about a lightning throwing demoness, as he had to recount to her the reason why he went to Mallet in the first place - because Trish had been made as a lure for him. 

Despite the way Lady had bristled upon hearing of Mallet, the huntress had been quick to welcome Trish, even with their earlier catfight. The two of them invited themselves back to Devil May Cry for the night, to drink Dante’s good liquor, mostly for Lady’s personal revenge against the man for not telling her of Trish sooner. Of course, opening the door in the setting sun, the interior was still dim, and clatters around the kitchen could be heard. Dante flung himself forward, flying up the stairs in an instant. Trish meanwhile, hesitated to come inside.

Something about the building, its impossible cleanliness, the way the walls were coloured by wallpaper instead of blood and the faint crackle of a magical ward, it was hard to want to walk any further into the space. Just as Lady was about to drag Trish inside, a growl from Dante and the squeaked reply of a second voice concerned Trish enough to pass the threshold, hissing as the tingle of holy magic passed over her skin, scanning her.

More muffled growls, and the sound of a door opening brought an exasperated Dante down the stairs, with a slender young girl. Her eyes were drooping, and she was rubbing and blinking them in a vain effort to remain awake. Her shoulders sagged, and her hair was falling out of its loosened plait hold. When the girl’s eyes met Trish’s form, her sleepiness gave way for awareness, she straightened her shoulders, met Trish’s gaze with her own, and walked towards the demoness with a grim expression.

“You, you’re Trish, aren’t you?” The girl’s voice was raspy with exhaustion, yawning between her salutations. 

“I’m Jeanne, nice to meet you at last.” A smile ghosted over Jeanne’s lips, as she waved politely. Trish raised her brow, now that she’d recovered from the ward scan, she could better sense the creature before her, the divinity that radiated off her in waves, a low burning sensation at the edge of her smell and over her tongue. 

Lady and Dante watched, cautiously, as Trish considered Jeanne’s presence, holding her chin in one hand, the other supporting her elbow over her chest. 

“Well,” Trish brushed her palms over the sides of her thighs, banishing the nervous sweat from them, “This is new. Where’d you get her, Dante?” The hunter hung his head, Jeanne beginning to answer, when the girl collapsed into his back, whispering an apology. Lady set into Dante, as the hunter placed his daughter onto the nearest couch, letting her lean on his shoulder. 

“What were you doing today? She’s acting like a zombie!” Lady yelled, readying a pistol at Dante’s forehead. The faint push of holy magic turned the weapon away from its line of fire, Lady clicking her tongue. Jeanne’s eyes lost their golden glow as she closed them, sinking further into her father’s side. Trish hissed at the display of power, the taste of divinity bitter and cold in her mouth. 

“Rock called, had the thing I ordered ready. I guess I didn’t think about it,” Dante sighed, gently brushing Jeanne’s back in circles while Lady and Trish sat in the opposite couch seats, reaching for a few glasses and Dante’s whiskey. 

“Think about what, exactly?” Trish enquired, as Lady gulped down her second drink in moments, Trish twirling her own glass as she waited for the hunter to talk.

“Think about the cost of using it. My princess hasn’t fought in her life, she’s not used to using any form of offensive magic, not even making bullets.” Dante’s eyes turned to fondness as he put his coat over his daughter’s form, the girl sound asleep beside him. Some time passed, and drinks were poured and savoured, as Trish listened to the story of Jeanne’s appearance. She almost couldn’t believe it, a single seed had survived Mundus’ centuries long search for the objects. 

Trish wasn’t an old demon, not like Mundus, and not like Sparda, but like any other demon, she knew the inherited knowledge of her species. She knew that angels and demons shared much ancestry, knew that she was to fear holy power, but she didn’t know why Dante embraced this girl with the ferocity he did, for demons and angels, family was a non-concept. Sure, more powerful demons had nestlings and raised them by hand, but most demons were created mature, and knew their purpose from the moment of their inception. 

“Does it hurt?” Trish asked, Dante giving her a confused hum in response. Trish mentally slapped herself, clarifying,

“Does it hurt to be so close to her? Doesn’t it burn you?” Dante shrugged, 

“It used to, but now that she’s bigger, not so much. Still hurts if I get hit with holy water _or_ pure holy essence, but, you get the idea.” Trish nodded, placing her drinking glass down next to Lady's, who was currently sprawling over the arm of the couch, drunk at last. Jeanne stirred, stretching her back as much as she could under her father's arm. Dante lifted his heavy limb off her body, allowing her to awaken fully, finally rested after the training session that morning, her blue eyes full of energy once again. 

"Father," Jeanne's voice was strangled in her stretch as she loosened the last of the sleep from her shoulder muscles, "I saw him again, that boy. Nero." Lady rose slightly from her stupor, swinging her weight forward over her knees, resting her arms on her lap and folding herself to try and focus despite the alcoholic haze. 

"He's… Somewhere in the Mediterranean, and-” Before she could even finish, Dante was giving her a sharp sideways look, tilting his head to further his silent point. Jeanne shrank in her seat, silencing herself with a hurried, muttered ‘sorry father’. Dante sighed, picking himself up off the couch to roll his shoulders, before throwing a blanket at Lady, who screeched when it landed over her face.

“Look, Genie, I know you want to help him. But,” Dante yawned, giving his daughter a saddened look, brushing his knuckles over her cheek to placate her, “He still attacked you for who knows what. Where in the Mediterranean is he anyways? And if he’s in trouble, you can barely shoot more than thirty rounds before you collapse.” At each point, Jeanne felt her heart sink lower and lower, and her cheeks flushed with sorrow and embarrassment, and at this Trish felt the need to step in.

“Alright, dad, she gets it. If it’s that important,” Trish nodded towards the now swaddled Lady, who was drifting off again, “We’ll help you train this poor princess, too.”

\------

“I could barely sleep! Something was scratching at my window!” Patty complained between yawns, as she downed her cup of tea. Jeanne did not take this news lightly, and apparently neither did anyone else in the shop. Who watches a little girl?

“Well, tell ya what Patty. We’ll have a look later, how about that?” Dante put his magazine down, open on his desk for him to return to. Meanwhile, Lady was swiftly recovering from her over-indulgence the night before. Jeanne locked eyes with her father, raising a brow and the man wiggled his own in response. 

"First, we're going to take you training. Since you're awake again," Dante stood and retrieved Rebellion from beside his desk, handing his daughter the heirloom weapon. She hesitated to touch it, the metal handle cool under her palms, but the blade was as light as a feather, and testing a small swing, she felt raw demonic power race up her arm, like lightning under her skin. 

"You're going to take Rebellion for now. All the other arms are in the trunk still." Dante spoke easily as he gathered his coat and guns, checking for his keys. Trish gave Dante a strange look, discussing the reasoning behind giving Jeanne the magic weapon that _carried Dante’s own power_. Lady fell out of the back room, finally dressed and sober enough to be mobile, which snapped Jeanne from her daze, and with Rebellion still in hand, she headed towards Lady to explain what was happening, and that she would find fresh croissants on the tea tray next to Patty if she wanted to wait at the shop for the time being.

It turned into a full ‘family’ expedition, Lady insisting she wanted to see Jeanne’s new gun for herself, given the huntress’ proficiency with similar weaponry, and with Dante and Jeanne antsy over Patty being stalked, the girl was brought along. Trish followed Dante’s car with her bike, Lady holding onto the demoness tightly as the wind whipped past them. Patty was watching the pair absently as she waited to arrive at their destination, Jeanne and Dante talking among themselves quietly.

“My weapons aren’t real enough for you?” Jeanne had been surprised when her father explained his reasoning for giving her Rebellion for the morning - he wanted her to learn how to carry weapons with souls, like Alastor, or if they ever showed their faces again, Agni and Rudra. Nevan was quieter these days, her soul more controlled and easy as long as she was active, and Jeanne’s insistence on playing the Arm was more than enough exercise. 

“No, they’re not. And until you make your own proper weaponry, Jeanne,” Dante’s voice was shaking slightly as he released a slow breath, pulling into the forest path on the left, “I want to know you have something strong, or you can practice with your gun. Your choice.” He stopped the engine and leaned his forehead into the steering wheel, whispering something that sounded like a prayer, at last climbing out of the car. Jeanne hugged Rebellion close to her chest as she followed, Patty coming behind her. From the trunk, Dante extracted Jeanne’s rifle, Alastor and Nevan, setting each weapon carefully against the back corner of the car. Trish and Lady approached, the latter lifting the rifle to inspect it. Lady cracked the mechanism open, looked down the scope, and tossed it lightly in her palms. 

“The Long Kiss. Good, I like it. Can I see you use it?” Lady handed the rifle to Jeanne, who had to take it in her one open hand, and suddenly looked overwhelmed at the two weapons she was holding onto. With a panicked glance at her father, blue eyes widening, Dante took Rebellion from her right hand, and held it to her back. 

“Okay, Genie, time to learn how to carry Devil Arms. Imagine there’s a big ol’ hand between your shoulder blades, and picture it holding this sword.” Jeanne nodded, closing her eyes to focus, picturing her own hand holding the blade, and like a warm hug Rebellion responded with its own, clawed grasp around her, now planted firmly against her back. With a final dusting of her compression pants, settling her jean shorts and long sleeve shirt once more, she lifted The Long Kiss to her shoulder, looking through the scope.

“I’m ready, who’s the target?” Jeanne took a steadying breath and watched as Trish raised her hand, flicking her hair to the side. 

“I’ll be target practice. Try and hit me, if you can.” Trish’s smile was truly devilish as she sent a shock of lighting at Jeanne, who leapt back to avoid it. Jeanne watched as more lightning crackled into Trish’s hands, and decided to run for the nearest tree, jumping over the bolt that came for her feet. With Rebellion on her back, she could *sense* Trish’s inherent magic, and she could more clearly picture the kinds of things her father had tried to tell her about in their scant few training sessions before this. How he told her about picturing claws on her feet to climb the bark in a hurry, almost as if he was in her ear over her shoulder to talk her through it again. Jeanne whipped around in her sheltered position and scanned the ground below, unable to find Trish, only for ears to feel the pressure of the air to her left increase. 

Turning to face the demoness, Jeanne imagined her bullets loading into the magazine, and unlike yesterday where it had been easy for her to miss, Jeanne’s first shot tore through Trish’s forearm, a sizable hole now torn between the demoness’ wrist and elbow, since she’d guarded her face from the shot. The bullet landed in her chest, and it stung, blackened blood sluggishly dripping from the intrusive object and onto her shoes. Dante tensed as he watched Trish retaliate with a salvo of electricity, but Jeanne leapt from the branch, the wood now falling to the ground, smouldering from the intense heat of the attacks. Jeanne was twisting in the air, Rebellion gleaming in the morning light, and its eyes flashed red as Jeanne loosed her own response, her rifle’s muzzle glowing a dangerous white light. The light released as a laser bolt, which turned sharply once it reached the apex of its trajectory, and tore through Trish’s shoulder. At the exposed and burning wound, Trish screamed more out of shock than pain, and Jeanne landed, running to aid the demoness.

“Ah, I’m so sorry! Miss Trish, are you okay?” Jeanne dropped her rifle to the ground, hands hovering over the quickly healing injury. Trish rolled her shoulder, standing as Dante and Lady rushed over themselves, observing the damage.

“It’s fine, don’t worry Jeanne.” Trish gave her a softer smile, and Lady let out a low whistle, as she retrieved the forgotten rifle, running her fingers over the still hot barrel, admiring the engraving work. Dante turned to face his daughter, and placed both his hands on her shoulders, the women moving back towards the vehicle and well out of the way, Lady passing Jeanne back The Long Kiss.

“That was crazy, how did you do that?” Dante’s jaw tightened nervously as Jeanne scrambled for an explanation. 

“I, um...I think the Rebellion knew what to do, more than I did.” Jeanne breathed, Dante nodding vigorously. 

“Of course she did, she’s got part of me in her, just like you.” With a more goofy grin, Jeanne chuckled at her father, but then his face turned serious. He opened his palm, reaching with his arm towards Alastor, the lightning blade flying into his grip.

“Now comes the real test,” He said, levelling himself into a fighting stance, “you have to land a blow on me.” 

Dante lunged forward, careening towards Jeanne as Alastor’s blade crackled with powerful magic. Gripping the handle of Rebellion from above her shoulder, she rolled backwards, under the swipe her father made and shoved the flat of Rebellion against the guard of Alastor, knocking Dante off-balance. To Patty, the fight was less a duel, and more akin to a dance. Rebellion in hand, Jeanne was twisting around each of her father’s strikes to counter him with her own, and he in turn would vanish only to appear in Jeanne’s blind spot. Patty noticed, however, that Jeanne’s eyes didn’t seem like her own, she looked like she was seeing something far away on the horizon and her blue irises glazed over as if she was asleep. 

Dante readied a truly crippling blow, landing the butt of Alastor’s pommel into Jeanne’s rib, causing the girl to drop Rebellion as she curled around the injury. It stung her like nothing else, a shot from point blank with all the force of a truck had punctured her lung and fluid was quickly filling the wound at pace with her healing. Dante continued to move, however, and as he lunged once more to swipe Jeanne’s feet, she stumbled backwards and allowed Dante to gather the Rebellion from the ground. With a growl, Jeanne spit out the blood from her throat at her father, and prepared for his coming retaliation, watching as he descended on her with both swords out.

This was it, Jeanne decided. One final blow and she’d be out for the count, but desperation often gave way to miracles, and so Jeanne called with her mind. She saw Nevan in the corner of her eye, between Lady and Trish’s shoulders, next to Patty. Her purple metal glinted in the sun, and Jeanne could imagine the way the Arm felt in her hands, cool and solid, and magic that felt like a tempest at her fingertips, directed by her strums and plucks into orchestrated power. 

Nevan twitched.

With a screech not unlike a string breaking, Nevan flew away from Patty’s side, causing the younger girl to scream in shock, and into the waiting hands of Jeanne. The sickle of the Arm caught the blow effortlessly, and Jeanne recovered from the impact quickly, Nevan shifting into her more familiar guitar form. Dante laughed, clapping with enthusiasm only matched by Trish and Lady’s own applause.

“You’re learning quicker than I thought,” Dante rested his blades against his back in a cross, and walked to Jeanne, opening his arms, “But you still have a lot to learn.” 

Jeanne welcomed the embrace, despite her own limp arms. Catching her father’s blow and Nevan had caused some serious pain to shoot through her bones to her elbows, and it made the limbs difficult to move.

“I’m trying, I assure you, father.” Jeanne whispered into a yawn, Nevan humming under her palm as she leaned on the weapon like a cane.

“Yeah, well, rest up. Your first mission starts tonight.” Dante said casually, as he headed back towards the car, Patty yelling at him for flying guitars and whatnot, and Jeanne was struck with a weakness of the knees.

She didn’t feel ready to fight. She’d barely survived that short bout of training.

\--------

The rest of the day, if you could call it that, was spent by Dante chasing off some random stalker, and then a visit by Morrison to take a job a little ways out of town. Lady and Trish had departed by the time Dante was preparing for his own work, packing Rebellion carefully into his guitar case and stashing his guns under his coat once more.

“Now listen, Genie.” Dante addressed his daughter, putting his hands on her shoulders to gain her full attention. Blue eyes met blue, fear and calm at opposing ends, but Jeanne swallowed as much of her panic as she could while her father talked.

“You’re going with Patty tonight, to see whatever’s happening at the orphanage. I trust,” Dante said, patting Jeanne’s right cheek with his open palm gently, “That the minimal skills you have can take care of it. Trust in yourself, for me, okay?” 

Jeanne wanted to protest, she wanted to scream and yell and cry that she wasn’t ready to face anyone in combat - the two actual training sessions she’d had barely counted for anything, and she still came out of the fake battles hurting and stung for hours afterwards. But as Dante released his grip on her shoulder to regard his daughter fondly, Jeanne felt each of those protests fall to the floor through her incredibly cold feet. She ran her fingers around the gold trimmed hem of her purple a-line dress. 

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Dante waved cheerily, “Maybe I’ll even get a cool souvenir from this bodyguard gig.” With a wide, toothy grin, the hunter left for the garage. Patty looked to Jeanne, and she moved to speak, but Jeanne covered her ears and turned away.

\-------

Last night Jeanne had had time to digest her father’s warning, and the meaning therein. 

This mission had to be a success, Nero’s rescue was counting on it. 

Patty had returned to the orphanage with Jeanne and showed her the room she was staying in. On the topmost floor on the left hand side of the main building, there weren’t any obvious vantage points to the two windows that occupied the corner, no trees close enough to use, but outside was a very thin ledge, and above Patty was the attic, whose access could be found not too far down the hall from her room, and there were breaks in the planks that formed the ceiling at even intervals. 

Knowing she only had minutes to prepare for the potential nightly encounter, Jeanne whipped to the nearest stuffed animal and recited a spell. The bear’s eyes and ears twitched, and then the critter jumped out of her hands, walking towards Patty’s pillows, settling itself neatly as if to sleep for itself.

“Once it hears, sees, or smells your stalker, this guy will attach himself to the creep. I can track the bear from then on.” Jeanne spoke hurriedly, as she raced down the stairs of the building, making a show of her exit. Patty watched from her window as the hunter’s daughter walked three streets down into the setting sun.


	6. What is it, to grow up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne might be mature for an angel, but she's still only a teenage human.

Dante _wasn’t_ bouncing his leg because the job was boring and being still was getting him antsy, he also _wasn’t_ panicking about Jeanne and her assignment. 

He said he wouldn’t force her to be ready before she actually was, and he meant it. Worst came to worst, Jeanne would scare off the stalker and she’d find him immediately. In the meantime, he had to stay present here, and protect the treasure hunters from anything unusual - and given the aura of the mansion he suspected something might come up soon. 

“Hey, play something, wontcha Tim?” One of the other treasure hunters called out from across the room. Tim had just been explaining to Dante about the peculiarities of their profession, and their hired muscle was only half-listening as he cradled a cup of coffee. Tim opened the lid of the case to his right, revealing a record player, and the shine of the record stacked on the top rack caught Dante’s attention immediately.

When he’d been running around with Grue, hanging out at Bobby’s Cellar for his next job and meaninglessly trying to fix his pistols, that was when he first heard of her, Elena Houston the Rock Queen. For years after the tragedy that had struck him, Mermaid Rock - now that he could remember the title clearly - it had been a pleasant reminder of the better times, of a place and people he wished he could go back to. He’d played his own copy of the record to death in his jukebox, and it sat now, framed, next to the machine that had killed it. 

Seeing the record in perfect condition in the case made Dante’s heart leap for a moment. 

“Why don’t you play that one for me?” He said casually as he sipped his steaming cup. Tim shrugged, 

“I don’t see why not. Let the ol’ Rock Queen have a spin. Been a while, even for me.” His voice was almost lamentatious, as if seeing the record induced the same kind of pain that Dante felt when he thought back to that bar, and the small family that had welcomed Tony Redgrave. 

The voice of the queen was crystal clear, a song of potential, of disastrous hope and fear all wrapped together. The opening strums caused a few of the less busy treasure hunters to dance, shuffling really, along with the beat, and Dante found himself staring into this reflection in his drink. His eyes glowed a soft red, and he thought about what Grue might say about Jeanne and Patty, or Tiki and Nesty. 

_”Now ain’t the time to be off the clock, Tony.”_ Grue’s voice echoed in his ears, as his demon senses tensed - something was coming - and sure enough a fish-smelling demoness burst through the largest of the glass windows and began to shriek.

“There you are,” Dante smirked, downing the last of his coffee as he shot at the demon, distracting it away from the valuable treasures, “Time for this party to get crazy!” 

\-----

Jeanne was waiting next to an air intake, the soft warmth and the hum of the device hopefully disguising most of her presence. She patted down her long purple skirt once more, and hated in her head the heat of Summer, and the humidity of its nighttime. She reached out with her senses to try and find her charge. With Rebellion, it had been easy to tell where her father or Trish had been, even Lady and Patty, the sword feeling like a magnifying glass for her more demonic side.

She’d told Lady she didn’t know how much of Sparda’s own power she possessed, given the nature of her birth, but having held the sword her father used, it made more sense. Her divine powers were limited, because they were separated from the demonic blood within herself. Rebellion’s inherent magic to bring together, rather than to rend apart, had finally made sense of the war within, and without it she was only half as strong. She contemplated what would happen if she stabbed herself, or if she asked her father to stab her - would it finally bring together what was like oil on water?

A scream broke her thoughts, and she whipped up from her position. Her scope snapped to find the cause, and it latched onto the bear she’d spellbound before. Lights were coming on at the orphanage, and in the shadows they cast, Jeanne could easily see the muscular demon, its wings folded around itself as it struggled to remove the stuffed animal clinging to its leg. Jeanne breathed, slow and steady, watching the demon flounder around trying to run. Counting her heartbeats, closing her ears and eyes to everything else, she exhaled one last time and pulled the trigger.

Three rooves over and four stories up, it wasn’t a clean angle, but the way her bullet bent for the target, one could be mistaken. The Long Kiss sent a holy-made round that ripped through the demon’s chest, tearing a large chunk of its body upon exit. Blood spurted high, and the viscera landed backwards onto the brickwork, staining it a startling red and green splatter. The creature stumbled, and then poked its clawed hand through its gaping wound, as if to ponder its coming demise. Jeanne wasted no time, a second round loosed from her rifle, and it landed squarely between the monster’s eyes, an explosion of blood and ash and a smoulder where it once stood. The bear, now without target, flew like it was possessed, back into Patty’s room, the window slamming shut once more.

With her scope, Jeanne saw Patty give her a wave, and the nephilim kept her eyes on the building, as the head carer called for buckets and soap and whatever else, keeping the youngest of the children away from the ugly sight.

“Tsk, what a shame. I had hoped for more…” An oily presence crept up Jeanne’s side, and her vision was cursed by the sight of the demon she’d chased out of her home. Its eyes still hared off in different directions, and its clothes seemed even more ragged than before, missing at least two more buttons and a tear in the shoulder of the left sleeve. Its quiet and breathy chuckle was the final straw, and Jeanne brought the muzzle of her weapon to its forehead.

“Oh, you’ll so quickly kill me? That would ruin all the fun I’m having with your father.” The demon snickered, and Jeanne felt her ire reach a fever pitch, and she snapped the trigger, only for the disgusting creature to dodge the shot, as if a fish moving through water.

“If I see your face again, I won’t hesitate!” Jeanne cried into the night, catching the back of the intruder flee over the tops of the buildings nearby, cackling all the while.

\------

Morning came, and the dawning light found Dante walking through the doors of Devil May Cry once again, a little richer and rewarded with a most unique gift by his hires. Jeanne, however, was dozing quietly in her father’s desk chair. There was a faint clicking sound, talons on the wooden floor, as Nevan descended from the kitchen, tea tray carried by the innumerable bats she always seemed to have. When she finally caught sight of Dante, the demoness curtsied deeply, the bats dissipating as the tray landed on the desk without a sound. Dante raised his brow as Nevan moved closer to speak quietly.

“Last night, she said the intruder she tried to chase away came back. He was stalking Patty by using other demons.” Nevan whispered smoothly, turning to the young girl, her face still asleep, but her brows were furrowed, and her lips were drawn into a grimace. Nevan moved to behind the seat, and began stroking Jeanne’s hair, the white locks having been loosed last night. Dante noticed now how long the strands were, reaching Jeanne’s elbows, like Patty’s mop of blonde. 

Jeanne opened her eyes, hissing between her teeth as she came to. Jeanne rubbed her eyes and cheeks to awaken properly, Nevan quickly tying the girl’s hair back into a tight bun, a cute purple ribbon bowed around the style. 

“Morning father, madame Nevan.” Jeanne yawned, standing up to stretch. She stepped around the desk to get to the teapot for a drink and to allow her father the seat, which he took as Nevan returned to her weapon form. 

“You two are awfully chummy these days.” Dante laughed, brushing his hair back absently. Jeanne shrugged, carrying her drink carefully to the couch closest to the stairs. 

“Madame Nevan was the only arm who would listen to me when I asked for company.” Jeanne paused, considering her words carefully. She’d not dreamt of the boy, nor anything really, but the feeling that she was unfinished, immature, had been running through her veins. She’d tried in vain to meditate to ease the discord of her make-up, but the demonic and human blood refused to listen to the divinity she possessed.

“Father,” Jeanne whispered, bringing Dante’s previously occupied eyes away from his book and to his daughter, “Can...Would you…” Jeanne found her hands shaking, and her tea cup was clattering in her hands. This immediately brought Dante over, his larger, gloved hands delicately placing the porcelaine down, and then cupping the flushing cheeks of his daughter as he knelt before her. Tears were forming in her eyes, and her hands reached for her seed. Dante simply waited for her to continue, his patience always calm and reassuring for the nephilim. 

“I’m...not complete. Yesterday, when I had Rebellion on my back, it all became so clear.” Jeanne fell off the couch and into Dante’s arms, sobbing gently under his chin. 

“I should have known! I should have asked you sooner…” Jeanne berated herself, and Dante clicked his tongue in admonition. 

“Jeanne, Genie, my little princess,” Dante rubbed his daughter’s back in slow circles, her hiccups receding as he continued the motion, “As easy as it would be to simply stab you, I can’t bring myself to do that. It hurts, Genie, every time it happens to me.” Dante had to laugh dryly at that, no matter how many swords went through his chest or abdomen, nothing would ever truly numb the initial pain that would shoot through him. The hunter brought Jeanne’s eyes to meet his own, her cheeks still stained with tears and heated in shame.

“You look so much like your grandmother, you know that, right? And I never want to see her face in pain again.” He watched her closely as she thought about this, her eyes glazing over with one last set of tears as she closed them, the water falling down her delicate features, “You and Trish deserve to be happy and unharmed.” Dante kissed the top of Jeanne’s hair, the girl nodding slowly in reaction to the words.

\-----

When Patty wandered in that day, two weeks from the end of the holidays, she was greeted by the unfamiliar tune in the jukebox. 

More startling, was the image of Dante mopping his own floor. He gave Patty a blinding bright smile, all teeth and charm, and the girl felt mildly intimidated.

“Hey-a Patty-cake, how are you after last night?” The hunter moved about the shop in time to the music, singing along with a pleasant baritone voice in harmony to the singer. Patty found her feet glued to the front step, unable to properly process the sight.

“What, reconsidering that date offer?” Dante teased, laughing raucously as Patty flushed a brilliant red and then began slapping and punching his chest and arms, sputtering about insults to her sensibilities and her insistence on liking only younger guys.

“You’re so stupid Dante! Jerk-face!” Patty yelled, finally out of energy. The girl took a few breaths to compose herself, stepping out of the man’s personal space and smoothing her fluffy, pink dress down.

“Where’s Jeanne?” Patty asked softly, looking around the shop, straining her ears for any noises upstairs. Dante put his tools away in the nearby cupboard, shrugging.

“Honestly, not sure. She had a job a few blocks down, and then she went with Trish and Lady, asked for them herself.” Dante gave a lop-sided smile as Patty deflated further, thinking of how to cheer the girl up. 

“Hey, Patty, if you want to hang with me today, I’ll get you a sundae when Jeanne comes home.” Patty instantly brightened, demanding to know what it was that Dante wanted to do.

“I’d like to find some things that Jeanne might like to do, you know, as a family.”

Patty stared at him in wide-eyed wonder, and all Dante could think of was how much more he wanted to see that kind of expression directed at him.

\------

Both Trish and Lady had been surprised by their summons to Devil May Cry, especially since Dante had called them to take care of Jeanne for the day. 

_”Jeanne’s having a small identity crisis.” Dante had spoken rather somberly, his hands around a cup of cold coffee. Trish shifted her weight, arms over her chest and hip forward, while Lady took up a seat on Dante’s desk, back to the hunter._

_“She’s attached her identity only to her angelic side, and realising that she’s at least a little demonic,” Dante took a gulp of his drink, “It’s put her on edge. I suspect I’m at least a bit to blame for that one.”_

_Lady looked incredulously at the hunter, Trish raising her brows in response to his words._

_“This is a first,” Lady chortled, “You admitting fault? Who are you and what did you do with Dante?” Dante raised his hands in surrender, leaning back in his chair as Trish came closer to the desk, leaning on her palms on the worn wood._

_“Why would you be to blame, Dante? Even though I’ve only known her a day,” Trish added, “You seem to have been an adequate parent.” There was a sobering silence in the air, as Dante reached for the portrait of his mother. He smiled fondly at the photo, before he answered._

_“When I was a kid, I was terrified of my father. Whenever he’d get angry with Vergil and I,” Dante cast a forlorn look to the Devil Sword Sparda, eyes clouded in memory, “His shadow would become like his demon form, and its eyes would glow red. It put a deep-seated fear of my own powers in me, so I cast them aside for years.” Reaching for the Rebellion, Dante turned the handle absently in his hand, the blade twirling against the floor with the motion._

_“Jeanne’s a good girl, but she’s afraid. What if it’s not enough to only have divine power, what if she accidentally sets the demon inside free?” Dante stopped spinning his weapon, and finally raised his gaze to meet the grimaces of both Trish and Lady. It was the spunky huntress that spoke up, agreeing to taking Jeanne’s mind off her concerns for the time being._

Which was why they were wandering around the upper end stores, Trish and Lady both thoroughly unimpressed with Jeanne’s wardrobe. 

_”Who picked all of this out, Dante?”_

_“No, actually, it was the lovely ladies at Planet Love.”_

Jeanne set the pace of their walk, slow but purposeful, as they considered the numerous windows on either side of the strip. Jeanne’s interest was piqued whenever she saw a bright red or shade of cool violet. Learning that her previous clothing selection, minus a very small handful of items, had been thrift-shopped, the offending clothes had been re-donated and Jeanne only kept the lilac long sleeve, high collar linen dress, the material pleasant in the last of the Summer.

Their journey ended at a smaller boutique, which Lady insisted on pushing Jeanne inside. The gothic exterior belied all the mirrors and clean, straight lines of the furnishings. Bright white lights were illuminating the space, and the shaded windows outside kept the privacy of the occupants inside. A portly older woman strolled out of the back, her sensible heels clicking softly against the vinyl flooring, and her dress flattering her shape, with eyeliner and lipstick so sharp and clean it could cut anyone that looked at it. Her greying hairs were clipped shorter, a stylish wave pinned back by a rose barrette.

“So,” The woman’s voice was gruff, as if she’d smoked for many years, “You’re the pipsqueak I got called for. You look horrible. How old are you? Nevermind.” The woman’s rant was punctuated by tisks and tuts and the pulling and prodding at her hair and clothes. She ripped the ribbon from Jeanne’s hair, and the girl suddenly felt so vulnerable, as her white locks fell down her back and brushed her arms with its weight.

“Jeanne, this is Madama Papillionerva. She’s an old family friend of my mother’s.” Lady explained as Jeanne was dragged by the sleeve into the back of the shop, and forcefully shoved into a chair.

“Miss Jeanne,” Papillionerva addressed the nephilim, and she felt her breath fail her as the sharp, red nails of the older woman brought her chin upwards as she inspected her face disturbingly closely.

“Y-yes, Madama?” Jeanne whispered as she was released, gently brushing her hands over where the cold of the woman’s grip had been. Blue eyes watched in wide awareness as the woman turned her back, fingers massaging her temples. She turned back, frown on her face and fingers snapping in Trish and Lady’s direction.

“Take a seat, I’ll do my best with this...mess.” The Madama left for the back room again, almost slamming the door in her wake. Jeanne let herself fall forward a bit, her shoulders sagging as she gripped her middle with her arms.

“....Why are we here?” Jeanne felt Lady’s shadow over her form as the older woman knelt a little closer to her.

“Because you’re part human. Being a woman means you have to take pride in your appearance.” Lady offered her a weak smile, as colour and tears sprung to Jeanne’s downcast face.

“Father said I looked fine. If I was worried I could ask-” Jeanne’s retort was cut short by both Trish and Lady laughing good-naturedly.

“Oh dear, sweet angel,” Trish ran a hand through her golden locks, thinking back on her early days in this world, “Dante means well, but he still thinks it’s okay to run around with only a coat and a gun strap with his pants.”

“That,” Lady snickered, “Or he goes full lord and pulls out that _horrible_ velvet _thing_.”  
\-------  
Madama Papillionerva had to be given credit for her skill, Jeanne conceded at last. Her hair had been cut slightly, only to neaten the ends, and then it was tightly braided around the base of her crown and fastened with an amethyst lotus. With her lilac dress, she now wore knee-high, tan boots with an inch heel. The rest of her outfits were similar to the ones they’d thrown away, except they were going to fit properly. 

It had been embarrassing to admit how little she knew of womanhood, given that her angelic side was more present than the human or demonic, and so it made for an awkward conversation about ‘blooming’. Jeanne had been all too happy to come home and see her father, who brought her into a tight embrace, and complimented her appearance change. (And of course Patty set into him for his ignorance over her own extensive wardrobe options, getting a laugh out of Jeanne - and that had felt almost too good.)

And just as he had promised, Dante had brought Jeanne and Patty to Fredi’s diner for dinner and sundaes afterwards.


	7. Grief never goes away, it only gets smaller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante's making a weekend plan, but it's the tiniest thing that causes him to spiral out of his usual calm. Jeanne is there to right the ship and brave the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this chapter will have the same level of catharsis as it does in my head when you read it, but I want to impress upon you the idea of it. Dante mentioned in the last chapter that he found Elena Houston while he was still a mercenary (My own headcanon, since they imply that Elena is like, *old*). 
> 
> And grief always has the smallest, hair triggers.

It was another quiet day, a Thursday of all things, at Devil May Cry. Dante was enjoying the quietness of not having Patty or Jeanne occupy his office. He’d finally been able to wind down enough to sleep for a few hours, and read the last of William Blake’s poetry. 

He’d found the book on a whim, just passing through the thrift store with Jeanne and Candy, the youngest of the Planet Love girls. It’d been there on the shelf, almost untouched, and if Dante focused on the hard leather cover, he could picture the bright golden ‘V’ that had covered his brother’s own copy. Reading it, the hunter was finding no comfort, the way Blake wrote and the subject matter itself, was it any wonder that Vergil saw himself as he had? It had been a struggle to finish the work, but Dante put the book into the back of his wardrobe, with the torn glove, and the coat he used to love. It made a little corner to Vergil, his loss and the way in which he’d parted from Dante. 

He’d planned ahead a few days to go to a riverside town with Jeanne and Patty to take his own mind off things. Ever since the spunky blonde had turned up, after his whirlwind and sudden parenthood on behalf of Jeanne’s arrival, and then the news that a stalking demon was taking interest in Patricia Lowell, Dante had put forward a form to _foster_ Patty. If it came to be that he could adopt her, he probably would. Between the growth of his inner circle, and the way he’d lost his previous one so quickly, Dante’s momentary happiness was whiplashing hard into sorrow.

He hadn’t told Patty that the riverside town was home to Tiki and Nesty Folgard, yet another reason to go. Looking at the memories Vergil had left behind, it had all come crashing back when he listened to Mermaid Rock again - he needed to see Grue’s daughters. He sent them money via Morrison whenever he could afford to, as if that would ever make up for the lack of a father in their lives. Too many people around him had no parents, and had even less closure as to why they were orphaned; Tiki and Nesty had only been six and four at the time, he doubted either of them remembered the green-clad Gilver that had been at their house recovering from a hangover, much less that he had turned Grue into a demon. (Even if only accidentally)

Dante was called out of his reverie by Jeanne’s footfalls, he noticed how they were weighted, and she seemed to walk unevenly up the stairs towards the storeroom. Dante quickly shut his wardrobe to meet his daughter, who was folding clothes neatly into the drawers that now belonged to her. The storeroom itself was pretty empty, just racks of weapons from years gone by, and a few other household supplies. 

“Would you like to clear this room out?” Dante asked, Jeanne jumping slightly as the hunter spoke, his voice deep and words slow, like he’d been asleep.

“Oh! Father.” Jeanne replied, standing up quickly, “I don’t think that’s necessary, neither of us sleep often enough to qualify two bedrooms, surely.” The girl fidgeted with the last of her items, deep indigo silk rolling smoothly in her palms. 

“Not just for you, but also Patty.” Dante strode past his daughter, her eyes widening, as the hunter gathered up a few of his swords - Alastor on his back, Vendetta and Merciless in his hands - and started carrying them downstairs. Jeanne hurriedly packed away the last of her things as Dante returned, this time grabbing Ifrit, before pausing as he handled Beowulf. 

“You intend to adopt her? Father?” Jeanne asked quietly, her left hand between his shoulder blades, able to feel his heartbeat despite the thick layers of clothes Dante insisted on wearing.

“...I don’t know. Look, Jeanne,” Dante turned, arms full of weapons. He leaned down, putting his cheek to his daughter’s, feeling it warm up under his skin, “For a long time, I’ve been running away from myself.” The hunter returned to full height, his voice carrying throughout the shop as he took his Devil Arms away.

“When I lost Vergil, that night…” Dante’s timbre was strained, and Jeanne could hear his tears through his speech. She hurried to grab the next set of weapons, a collection of shotguns, and passed her father in the hall, “He’d re-awakened my demon powers after one of our fights. I’d forgotten completely what was inside me, because I was afraid too.”   
Dante let himself feel the memories, like a tidal wave of emotion.

“When mom died, when the demons came for us, God knows I was scared shitless.” He steadied himself by leaning over Spiral, picking the rifle up carefully, Jeanne watching his back as his shoulders and ribs hitched with his breathing, “So I did as mom said, I forgot everything and started a new life as Anthony Redgrave. Convinced myself that everything before was just a bad dream, and with enough booze, I had myself fooled.”

“...I was a mercenary, Jeanne. In my rush to embrace my humanity, I allowed myself to become a demon.” He barely noticed it when Jeanne pulled his hand away from the weapons racks, and towards his room. The sun was setting in the background, and dust particles were making some impressive rays along the length of the space, but Dante’s head was swimming in darkness.

He could still see the bullet casings, the looks on any mark’s face as they came to an end at the hands of Tony Redgrave.

He could still smell the cigarettes Grue loved, and the way the bar floor got all sticky from his sundaes and whiskeys.

“Jeanne,” Dante whispered, his eyes hollow. Jeanne had seated him on the edge of his bed, and sat beside him, her arms around his shoulders, “...I killed so many people. I killed my brother, I bled him dry and didn’t look back. I let a lot of friends down. I’m a monster.” Dante was shuddering by the time he finished, or whenever it was his voice gave out. Wet, deep sobs and his arms circling tightly around Jeanne’s waist were all there was in the fading light.

“...You’re a cambion, father,” Jeanne stroked Dante’s hair absently, as she began to speak softly into his shoulder, “That means you’re at least half human. You talk about grandmother as if she was your world, your solid rock.” The hunter brought Jeanne into a closer embrace, tucking her head under his chin, and her legs crossing horizontal on his lap.

“You said,” Jeanne continued, gently taking one of Dante’s gloved hands into her own, “That you couldn’t stand to see your mother’s face in pain anymore. That Trish and I deserve to be happy and unharmed.” Jeanne’s eyes were radiating a soft gold, as she brought them to meet her father’s half-closed ones, wet streaks still staining his cheeks.

“Heaven sent me because your _soul was screaming_. I was not made naive of what you were, or who you are.” Jeanne felt her own tears springing to her eyes, and so she buried her face into her father’s chest.

“And it hurts me to see you in pain. You can’t replace the family you have lost,” Jeanne released a slow breath as she felt her father’s heartbeat even out, “But you have one here, now. You can trust us, like we trust you. We love you.”

“I love you.” Jeanne added.  
Whatever tidal wave of grief Dante had let loose, it turned into a maelstrom absolute as the weight of the world came crashing down around his shoulders. He held onto his daughter, as if a lifeline for a man overboard, and he cried. All of this, because of a stupid record. If he’d known, if he’d remembered why he’d destroyed his original copy in the first place, he’d never have asked for one ever again.

It hurt to remember his old life. There weren’t scars, only gaping wounds and blood-curdling screams, and nightmares trapped behind his eyelids that danced like shadows around a flame. Jeanne’s weight and warmth in his arms was like a balm, her presence a bright light in the midst of his darkest hours. And damn, did he need it.

“...I love you too, Genie. I’m glad...I’m glad you’re here.”


	8. The Trip Together Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going to Hunnington sounded like a good idea, but Dante was about to be dragged into more nonsense.

After the tears had dried, Dante and Jeanne returned to clearing out the upper storeroom, the weapons rack now neatly squared into the garage, close enough to the corvette for Dante to simply grab whatever he needed in a hurry. Jeanne mopped and scrubbed the floors and walls, preparing them for new furniture, marking out the expense against the ledger, checking that their budget was going to be clear for the remainder of the season heading into the wintry months ahead.

Exhaustion soon hit them, when they sat down beside each other on the couch and watched the muted television, some breed of documentary playing images of animals and the destruction of nature.

“Well, tomorrow we’ll get that room sorted out. Gotta look good, y’know?” Dante yawned, stretching lazily towards the arm of the couch, Jeanne also dangerously drowsy, eyes closing for elongated blinks.

“That’s tomorrow. Right now, I just want to sleep.” Jeanne shivered, the cool of the night air combining with her tiredness. Dante raised his head slightly, shooting Jeanne a concerned look as the girl wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her legs into her skirt. The hunter chuckled, suddenly pulling Jeanne over his back, and carrying her up the stairs while she clung to his shoulders for her life. (Not that Dante would ever let his princess fall) He set her down after they got back to his room, and then he grabbed the fresh blankets on the bed, wrapping them around himself, and transformed into his Devil Trigger. The innate heat of the form would warm up the sheets perfectly, his transformation released as quickly as it was brought on.

Jeanne set the pillows up against the headboard, and when Dante gave her the warmed up blanket to sleep in, she grabbed his hand, then pulled him into a hug.

“Goodnight father. I’ll see you in the morning, won’t I?” 

Dante didn’t answer, only responding by kissing the top of Jeanne’s hair, wrapping her in the blanket.

\-----

That stupid, white-armoured demon was back. Its wings were dressing its shoulders, and its golden features glinted in the moonlight of the grove. 

Despite his training against such demons, he struggled with the idea of killing this one, either because it was just in his dream or otherwise. The demon always sat close to the water, and it spoke as if it was human - last time he checked, demons were only out for blood and to eat your soul. 

“...Nero?” The demon called out, as its gaze fell upon him and his hiding spot. It straightened its shoulders and faced him, the tips of its wings vibrating with anticipation. Nero dared to walk closer, making sure to show off his gun this time. The demon made a sound like a gasp, warbling from the metal that covered its mouth.

“You wouldn’t shoot me, would you Nero?” The demon stood up, silken skirts hanging from its waist that covered the platemail on its legs, and a chained golden talisman that chimed with an otherworldly sound as it approached. Nero clicked the hammer into place, once the demon was within arms reach of him, and he placed the muzzle square with the demon’s forehead.

“Nero, listen to me,” The demon spoke evenly, and suddenly Nero’s arm felt heavy, his limb falling to his side, “You’re afraid. There’s something inside you that wants out, but it’s dangerous and scary and you can’t control it.”

Nero felt his anger boil, and with a growl he snapped his gun upwards, taking a shot at the demon. His gun swung wide, away from the demon, and then there was a flash of light.

There wasn’t a demon before him, it was a girl.

She had white hair like his own, braided neatly above her neck, and she wore a delicate violet dress that reached the grass. Her eyes were like the sky, blue and cool, but open and gentle, and her face seemed eerily familiar, but he couldn’t think of why. She placed a warm, kind hand against his cheek, and Nero flinched away from the gesture. He sneered at her.

“Who are you?” He hissed. The girl gave him a sad smile, retracting her hand.

“Jeanne.”  
\---------

Friday mornings at Devil May Cry had become something of a ritual. 

Jeanne would pick one song, and while Dante was brought out of his slumber, she’d make some breed of breakfast and clean up any messes left behind by unexpected visitors that Jeanne may have missed due to being unconscious or otherwise occupied. 

Dante was sluggish every morning, but especially Fridays and Saturdays. He’d wake up only when Jeanne all but shoved a coffee into his face, sometimes even ripping his head back so she could tip the hot liquid down his throat, something she had done on the few times he’d been hungover. Dante would then line up the next half hour of music as the shop came into full swing for its weekly chore catch-up. After cleaning out the upper storeroom, Dante took a tape measure to the walls and floors, noting down the dimensions, while Jeanne used her lesser magic to help fix the few cracks in the plaster and the woods with putties. 

Today the hunter had shed his usual shades of bombastic red for his black denim coveralls and matching hat, an outfit that he’d used when he’d fronted as a handyman, and Jeanne was wearing her new blue jeans and a bright purple blouse. He drove with Jeanne into the city proper, arriving at an old contact’s place of business, where discounted furniture was repaired and sold. 

“Tony,” The owner sounded surprised, “What can I get for you?” 

Dante shrugged, looking around the shop floor. Jeanne had already begun inspecting various items, but she stopped when she found the exact thing they were looking for. 

It was perfect, really, an aluminium bunk bed frame, fresh mattresses included. Jeanne thought immediately of how much Patty would probably love the sleeping arrangements, a sign of true inclusion, if the movies and stories Dante had shown and told her were anything to go by. The shop owner wandered over with Dante in tow, and soon they had picked out a closet and drawer combination piece that would fit neatly into the wall opposite the current dresser. Her father organised for their delivery, leaving Jeanne in town with a wad of cash to complete the furnishing job. 

Jeanne hoped that Patty liked pink, a lot.

\------

Suffice it to say that Patricia Katherine Lowell _screamed_ upon seeing the newly installed second bedroom in the shop, and she’d tackled both Dante and Jeanne into a hug that winded them both.

“I love it!” Patty cheered, following the pair back down to the main floor. Jeanne picked up Nevan again, playing a soft series of strums over her guitar form, and Dante shifted in his seat to try and dislodge his embarrassment. 

“But,” Patty mumbled, her face falling, “What if my mom comes back? What if I can’t stay here?” Patty’s eyes were watering, and her hands were fisted in the fluffy, pink-white dress she was wearing. Dante motioned with his hand to the girl, who shuffled closer to the man, and was promptly lifted onto his lap. 

“Patty, I hate to say it,” his voice was quiet, and Jeanne kept playing softly, trying to soothe the orphan’s souls, “but I doubt she’ll come back. And even if she did, who knows if she’d keep you?” Patty’s tears dried up, and she leaned into the warmth of Dante’s chest for a time, simply allowing herself to indulge in the fantasy he was presenting. 

“Okay,” Patty sighed, her gaze and the hunter’s meeting, “Okay. You’re….right.” She jumped off his lap and straightened out her dress, rocking on the balls of her feet while she thought. 

“So uh, what’s next? You said something about a trip?”

“Yeah,” Dante nodded, “We’re going to Hunnington, a couple hours over. If you’re ready to go, I’ll make a call and we can start driving.” Patty picked up her backpack, showing it off to Dante. He nodded in reply, motioning for Jeanne to gather their items. 

“Grab that spare guitar case, Genie. May as well bring Nevan with us!” Dante called, Jeanne already disappearing upstairs, and he placed his sword into his own case, followed by his guns into the holsters hidden by his coat. Patty followed him into the garage, placing her bag carefully into the corner of the trunk, Jeanne soon returning with a small suitcase and the second carry case for Nevan, the faux instruments taking up most of the storage space.

“I’ll go make that call and lock up. You two can wait in the car.” Dante waved his hand as he returned inside, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door.

“Jeanne?” Patty said softly, sitting in the back of the car, “Why is Dante doing all this?”

“A long time ago, Patty,” Jeanne closed her eyes, willing away the most potent memory of Dante’s drunkenness from her mind, “There was a man named Vergil, my father’s twin. He too, lost his mother, and it drove him mad. I imagine he simply wishes that Vergil had his only family with him in the darkest hours.” Another thought came to mind, and Jeanne turned to face Patty, Dante walking out of the office in the corner of her eye.

“Patty, when’s your birthday? How old are you now?”

“May 3, 1996. I’m eight.” 

“....All the more reason to get you to stay.” Dante said, the soft click of the door emphasising his finality, as if Patty going to any other family was an option. Patty gave a confused look to the front seats, but neither occupants seemed to want to talk. Dante flicked the radio on, fiddling with the knob, until they reached the right station. The scenery outside the windows began in the rougher end of Capulet, where there were tall, blocky apartments and rusting playgrounds and sports rings. Patty never really paid much attention to 13th Avenue, but seeing it in the daylight, it was obvious to see where there had been a repair job to the town - just past Love Planet was a collection of newer looking apartments with more glass and less moss, and even the strip club itself and the attached bar had been spruced up, less gothic and more art deco details covering the windowsills and doorways. It contrasted terribly with the story that Dante’s gothic storefront and the lines that stretched between buildings covered with sheets told, or the way the road got suspiciously smooth once they moved past the park that now took up the middle of 13th and 12th, a harrowing and solemn blankness in the grassy circle. 

And when they finally left the city, instead of heading towards the forest, they drove past the upper end of town, all fancy hotels and glitzy skyscrapers, and enough glass to be terrifying on a windy day. Patty longed to visit one of the mansions that dotted the outer crust of Capulet, feel the finery and the taste of luxury, like thick creamy vanilla she hoped, in every room. She wondered, thinking over Dante’s doubts of her mother returning, if she’d been stupid to decline the adoption offer by the other, older, wealthier Patricia Lowell. 

And then Jeanne turned around to face her, hand on Patty’s knee. Slowly she brought their eyes to meeting, blue to blue.

“Patty?” Jeanne asked, the wind rushing past the car and battering the convertible’s covering, masking her voice slightly.

“I’m fine, really.” Jeanne didn’t buy Patty’s response, and with inhuman flexibility and careful maneuvering, the nephilim was seated next to Patty, bringing the smaller girl into a side-hug.

“Normally you talk our ears off. You being quiet,” Jeanne’s voice, as Patty heard it roll through her chest, was like a wave washing, “Is odd. What can we do to cheer you up?”

Patty looked at Jeanne, confused, and then checked the rear-view mirror, seeing Dante shoot her a concerned glance too, as he overtook a Cadillac. 

“Well...I spy with my little eye…”


	9. Truths granted and wishes stolen (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family of Devil May Cry go to Hunnington village, to see some old friends, and familiar enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uh, don't *think* the town has a name in the animated series, so for the time being it's going to be Hunnington village, because that seems about right.
> 
> Also, there have been subtle changes to the material found in the initial novel for DMC for the purposes of this fic. Please ask if you're curious as to what I changed, it's actually interesting to listen to the further lore of the series.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy

It had taken them until later in the afternoon to arrive in Hunnington, Morrison was near the train station just beyond the town proper, putting his cigarette out into a bin. Seeing the red car approach, he straightened his waistcoat and jacket, and strode with purpose towards Dante and his entourage.

“Are you sure about this, Dante? You can change your-” Morrison was cut off by an irate Dante.

“No, no. I’m doing this today.” He ran a hand through his hair, and the white locks stood up against his head. Catching his reflection in the windshield of his car, the hunter grimaced - it had been on the back of remembering Vergil that all this had started.

And now he just wanted to bury it all again, in the back of his emotional closet, where Jeanne wouldn’t see it and ask to fix it. Where Patty couldn’t get worked up over it herself either, he decided, brushing his bangs back down.

The family and its beloved broker walked towards the house closest to the station, its lavender roofing shingles and creeping vines that surrounded the wide face of the building belying the truth of the people who lived within its walls. Morrison knocked on the door, sharp and commanding, and a shorter man answered, his black hair slicked back and shiny, a looser suit falling over his stouter frame, and a scrunched up, greasy face to match. The man sighed, 

“Dante, I get ya got good intentions, but you don’t have to-” Dante growled, low like thunder, or the way a flame roared, and the man seemed to get the message, as the hunter strode through the entryway, Patty and Jeanne following him slightly bewildered.

“I have to, Enzo. No more excuses.” The man, Enzo, invited Morrison inside then situated his guests into the relatively plush lounge room, a green carpet and dark leather seating set facing the small TV set, with a window giving light from behind. 

“Nesty! Tiki! Someone here to see ya. Get your butts down here.” Enzo called, before disappearing into the kitchen next to the lounge. 

Tiki and Nesty looked like mirror images of Jeanne and Patty, except in colouration. Tiki was a bit taller than Jeanne, and her thick, brown hair was tightly pinned into cornrows on the side of her head, leading into a loosely tied ponytail, and for her clothes she wore a utilitarian grey dress with long sleeves and white lace along the hem, waist and cuffs. Nesty shared her sister’s more olive skin and brown hair, but hers was pulled into a braid that ran over her shoulder, and she wore a green dress that matched her sister’s in style. Nesty looked at Dante like she wanted him to combust spontaneously, even if only for her personal amusement and everyone else’s dismay.

“You,” Nesty spat venomously, 

“Yes, me.” Dante replied, falling into the couch behind him. Nesty’s glare shrivelled her face, brows creased, lips pulled downwards and she leaned forwards as if to thrust her ugly expression straight into the hunter, who stared at the floor with all his interest.

“You come here thinking you can just _apologise_? No. I won’t have it!” Nesty hissed, grabbing her sister by the arm. Tiki looked ready to protest, when Enzo and Jeanne stepped into the fray, Enzo placing his hands on Nesty’s shoulders, and Jeanne seating herself by her father.

“Please, at least hear my father out.” Jeanne pleaded, her hand reaching to wrap around Dante’s, the man’s grasp firm against her wrist. Enzo then spoke, pulling Nesty into his presence, her determination faltering for him.

“Look, Dante ain’t done you two right or good, I get that. He almost lost me my right arm,” Enzo shook his head, releasing Nesty, and allowed Tiki to take her sister to a couch on which to sit themselves, “But he’s never stopped caring aboutcha, and I _know_ I’ve seen you accept every one of those pay packets he sends, so, listen to him just one time.” 

“They’re right, Nesty. I remember Dante being friendly with us, he used to make dad so mad because he ‘ate like a child’.” Tiki giggled into the back of her hand, and Nesty had to relent. She crossed her arms and ankles and waited, the room wonderfully silent as Dante considered his explanation.

“Recently...I’ve had a lot of changes in my life. But everything brings me back here, and,” Dante swallowed hard, “Hate me if you want, but you deserve the truth.” 

Dante released a breath from his nostrils, and retrieved from within his shirt a pendant. The Perfect Amulet, its golden half on display, as he showed it to Tiki and Nesty.

“This was Vergil’s, my brother. You were very young at the time, but, there was a man - Gilver - he slept off a hangover at the house. He-” Dante paused, his voice had spoken rapidly, fear of losing his confidence and train of thought as he remembered the man with the bandaged face and green suit, his katana and the pendant that he also had - how stupid he was to believe his own identity farce - and forced himself to slow, “That man, Gilver, was my brother Vergil. He decided that it wasn’t enough to be half-demon, he wanted the full thing. He worked his way into our trust.”

“Get to the point, old man!” Nesty yelled, fists in her skirt, and Tiki tried to soothe her sister with soft whispers. Patty and Jeanne kept their silence, Patty in shock and Jeanne in resolve, she had to be present to protect her father, even from himself.

“The point is,” Enzo nodded to Morrison as he retrieved a cigar from his jacket, the broker lighting its end for him, “Is that Gilver is the reason Grue and all the others died. It sounds crazy, but I’m not lying. The freak had his sword at my shoulder before I even knew it.” 

“Vergil wanted absolute power, and he had hoped a demonic sacrifice would invoke his powers, unfortunately that costs human blood and souls, and the bar was expendable - and he knew it would hurt me.” Dante hung his head, forearms resting on his knees. His hair shielded his eyes from view, but their moistness caused them to glisten, threatening tears.

“He turned your father and your sister into a demon, and I didn’t have a choice. There wasn’t a way to undo what Gilver had done, and it was better than them suffering. I didn’t even know it was him until the dust settled, I was in too much of a bloodlust to care, and for that I am truly sorry.” 

Nesty had heard enough, she shot up from her seat and stepped into Dante’s space, ripping his head up by the hair, forcing their eyes to meet. Nesty winced, as if to look upon Dante’s distress caused physical pain, and then she slapped him. Everyone moved, reaching for either Tiki or Dante to pull them apart, as Nesty screamed and struggled against Enzo and Tiki’s arms.

“LIAR! You knew! YOU KNEW! You killed our dad cause you could! He was in your way, you wanted more money, so you killed him AND our sister! Jessica _loved **you**_ , bless her soul. AND WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Nesty wriggled free from between her family, and crossed the room again, this time confronting Jeanne, who stood up as a barrier to Dante. The man stared at the angry young girl, full of nothingness, lamenting everything in his life that would lead to this moment, and cursing his own innate desire to protect the humans of this world from the Other.

“It would be unwise to judge my father for his **brother’s** sins.” Jeanne said quietly, pressing her palm to Nesty’s chest. The girl faltered again, falling to her knees and wailing for all she was worth, beating the carpet with her fists and cursing emptily against the world. 

“...Nesty, that ain’t true. You know as well as I do about all this demon crap - or do you buy into that whole ‘Cereza is a nun’ thing?” Enzo removed his familiar sunglasses to peer at his adoptive daughter with his beady green eyes. He watched as Nesty crumpled completely, tears and raspy breaths and clenching fists as she fought with what little truth she knew, and the hate she felt. She _wanted_ to be angry at Dante, she wanted to hate him, because Gilver felt like an excuse, and it was touching, but hollow that he sent them money every other paycheck, and in her earliest memories is a picture of Dante with strawberry sauce strewn from ear to ear as he continued to assault a sundae. 

“Then,” Nesty at last spoke, Tiki reaching down to pick her sister up, “Then that woman that keeps turning up. She’s real?” 

At the mention of this mysterious woman, there was a knocking at the door. Everyone else froze, but Patty cautiously walked towards it, Morrison belatedly reaching for the girl as she opened the wooden barrier. The door creaked, and from behind it the sunlight poured into the dimness and smoke of the house, and it revealed a woman wearing a pink collared shirt and a ragged skirt, her hair pulled into rough twin tails and face gaunt. Her green eyes appeared lifeless, and her skin was awfully pale.

“Please, can you help me? I need someone to help my brother, please! You must know someone.” 

Dante and Jeanne stiffened, straightening their stances and marching solemnly towards the woman and Patty, ushering both outside.

“This isn’t over Dante!” Nesty yelled, retreating to the upper portion of the house, Enzo and Morrison still smoking in the lounge, de-stressing. 

“What do you want?” Dante put his hands on his hips and sneered, Jeanne bringing Patty closer to her, holding her hand.  
The woman hesitated, reaching for a chain around her neck, then ripping it from her body to poffer Dante a silver ring with a sapphire on it. 

“Please! Save my brother, he didn’t do anything! It wasn’t him that killed Claude. Please, you must prove him innocent.” 

Dante took the ring delicately between his forefinger and thumb, feeling the slime of a Griefer brush over his knuckles. 

“You do that, and you’ll have nothing left to eat.” Dante warned, wagging the ring in front of the woman. Her eyes flashed red, only for a moment, but she shook her head.

“Please save Kerry, he’s all I have.”

\---------

“The problem with you Dante,” Enzo said as they sat at the bar, “is that you always get wrapped up in the same kind of crap as that witch. Lynn Marcus died a week ago.” The former informant to the hunter downed his scotch, Morrison sipping his beer slowly and Dante flicking the ring into the air.

“Yeah well, it’s rare that a Griefer would let their food go. This deserves my attention.” Dante was solemn, telling Jeanne and Patty to go walk through town while he and the information brokers learned about the situation at hand. Griefers were notorious demons, latching onto personal effects and faces of the deeply disturbed and recently deceased. They’d hold onto the object drenched in emotion, and feed off it slowly, like a parasite, and to get one to give up its food was impossible, especially for such a recent death as this.

“Kerry Marcus, her brother,” Enzo continued, eyeing the bartender as he walked around the back to get Dante something to eat, “He got thrown into the slammer, and then Lynn died. Never found out why, but it happened at this bar.” 

“What jail? Huntington barely has a police force, let alone a _prison_.”

“The case of Devil’s Hold prison is not one to take lightly, Dante. My advice? Forget it, nobody goes into that place and comes out. Not even you would.” Morrison finally broke his silence, all but slamming his now empty glass down, glaring at Dante, willing the younger man to listen to his sagely wisdom.

But like normal, Dante rarely listened to anything except what he wanted to hear. Or rather, it wasn’t that he didn’t listen, he just didn’t want to give up on this interesting job.

“I’ll decide that for myself. Morrison, go and get Patty and Jeanne, bring them here. Enzo, go home.” Dante dismissed both older men, Morrison feigning hurt and anger, despite his obvious concern, if his rush to retrieve Dante’s charges was any indication. Enzo finished his drink, licking his lips as he thought of something to say. Wordless, Enzo patted Dante’s shoulder in condolence and thanks, and departed as well.

“Now, barkeep,” Dante focussed fully on the man behind the bar, picking up a hot chip, “Tell me what you know.” 

\------

Patty and Jeanne were only a block over, sipping on cool teas and eating light sandwiches when Morrison approached, waving his cane wildly.

“Girls, girls come quick! Your father is gonna do something spectacularly _stupid_.” Morrison chuckled in his admonition. Jeanne put her cup down only once she’d finished her drink, and Patty suddenly found herself without appetite.

“Of course he will. Patty, let’s go.” Jeanne stacked a few bills under her plate and picked up both of her instrument cases that leaned against the closest wall, Rebellion and Nevan in her hands again. 

“Wait, what kind of trouble? Is this like that time with Trish and Lady?” Patty chased after Jeanne and Morrison, their steps longer and sharper than hers, causing a small gap between the travelling group. 

“Somehow, I doubt it will be that simple.” Jeanne lamented quietly, as the yell and crack of broken glass reached her ears, and before her eyes, Dante was pinning a scraggly man to brickwork, and a crowd had gathered.

It mattered little what transpired next, as within moments prison wardens had arrived and stuffed Dante and Rebellion into the back of a wagon, Dante hurriedly directing Morrison.

“Look, I’ll pay you extra, but take the girls to the hotel and call Lady. Tell Jeanne to come for me later.” 

Jeanne’s eyes were filled with worry, and Dante tried to reassure her with a cocky smile, but even he doubted the wisdom of this decision in the end, as he watched the day fade all too quickly into evening, and felt the eyes of a hundred cameras and the aura of something _rotten_ on his way into the warden’s office.

It felt like swallowing hot grease to breathe near the _thing_ that sat in the control chair, its teeth were barely contained in its human lips, and the build was short and round, as if something had stuffed itself inside with little regard for the human it inhabited. And when it spoke, Dante struggled not to vomit, its voice slithering into his ears like Pride sand or Nightmare’s goo threatening to drown him.  
“You must be a real bad apple to be carrying all this stuff.” It said, appraising the selection of weaponry that sat around its meal of lobster. There were empty bullets, Ebony and Ivory beside those, and Rebellion splayed lengthwise over the wooden slab called a desk. Dante brought out a casual smile, raising his cuffed hands in a shrug.

“Just a few of my accessories, I just got their size wrong is all.” It grinned at his response, falling out of the chair as if a hundred sticky hands had kept it in place before it moved. It waddled around the hunter, eyeing him hungrily.

“Well don’t you look cute n’ talk cute. Be a good boy, won’t you? Then I won’t have to waste your…” It licked its lips and sucked in a breath, “Delicious, firm body.” 

Dante’s self-control tore apart, and he ripped his cuffs like they were merely paper links, grabbing the front of the warden’s uniform, lifting him so their eyes met. In the beady, red-washed things that dared provide vision for the creature that Dante could feel slither around his palms and wrists, he saw _exactly_ the type of being he wanted to keep away from his **daughters**. 

“Listen here you pudgy _fuck_ ,” Dante growled, “ ** _You’re_** the delicious looking one, marbled with fat and all.” With this, he threw the thing back into its seat, where it sputtered from the impact, and yelled about the location of Dante’s holding.

He hoped this was the right thing to do, as he passed into the special cell section. He slumped against the far wall, his demon ears and eyes picking up on the other living being across from his room.

“Hey, are you Kerry Marcus? I got asked by your sister to come here, so,” Dante laughed emptily, listening as the person behind him scrambled around in shock, “Tell me why you and I should actually be at that bar.” 

“My sister?! They said she died! Oh, well, it happened like…”

As Dante listened to the recount of this story, he fiddled with the ring in his hand, and considered how best to tell Kerry that it had been the _grief_ of his sister that had brought him here.

But that could wait until all the demons were out of the picture.


	10. Truths granted and wishes stolen (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prison break-out and break-in. A long night for Jeanne and Dante, and it won't be over until the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry about the delay I guess.
> 
> Thank you for reading, gonna say that in advance. I appreciate you - a lot.
> 
> As an aside, something mildly unrelated in the end notes - feel free to ignore.

Patty sat, bewildered, on her bed in the hotel room. Next to her, Jeanne was preparing the Long Kiss, twisting its scope and barrel into place, Nevan out of her case and sitting on the nephilim’s back, humming with quiet electricity.

“Jeanne,” Patty yawned, “Why did Dante bring us here?” 

Jeanne had used Soul Divination on Dante in the past, but it always made her feel guilty, whenever she caught glimpses of the family she’d never meet, trying to picture their faces and voices through Dante’s memory, but it always caused the hunter to fall into a nightmare. At first she was willing to dismiss the nightmares as coincidence, but enough poking and prodding, and it became apparent - Jeanne’s Divination was causing the terrifying images and screams and whatever other horrors plagued her father to worsen. 

But Dante was letting them into the secrets of his nightmares. He hadn’t told Jeanne much of the nightmares he had, not personally, and he hadn’t told Patty that he wished to actually adopt her - just that he doubted she would have anywhere else to stay. _That_ was why he had brought them here today, as a show of acceptance, not just a fun trip as a family. 

“I think,” Jeanne finally answered, as Patty yawned again, leaning into her pillows, “that father wants us to know how deeply he cares, Patty. Those two girls, the people they lost, they are his reasons for hunting.” Jeanne rose from the bed, checking one last time that The Long Kiss was properly adjusted and ready.

“I’ll return soon with father, Patty. See you in a bit.”

\---------

Morrison drove Jeanne in the corvette, taking her to Devil Hold’s prison, parked in the trees some distance away from the entrance, a giant iron gate blocking access.

“This won’t be easy, will it?” Morrison puffed on his cigar, trying to quell his panic, “You sure you can do this, kiddo?”

Jeanne scrunched her skirt, wiping the sweat between her digits away. Licking her lips, she prepared to leave the vehicle, turning around to grab both her weapons. Outside the car, she placed her rifle on her shoulders, Nevan ready in her hands in guitar form. 

“I’ll have to be, Mr Morrison. But I don’t think father would tell you to bring me here, unless it was dire.” Jeanne replied. She wondered why Dante would want her here, what it was she was to do was unclear. She stalked away from the car, carefully skirting around the shadows, leaving the tree cover for a truck, shielding herself from view behind the driver’s side wheel. Now that she was closer to the building, she could _smell_ it. Her senses were ablaze with the scent and taste of Damnation, and when she looked at the guard outside the gate, she could _imagine_ the demon that gripped his soul between its claws, a haze of heat that shimmered around the guard’s head and torso. An alarm sounded within the building, and the enormous doors creaked open. Jeanne reached for Nevan, just as she had for Rebellion, and requested Nevan to help her.

_I need to get in that way, can you help me?_

_Of course,_ Nevan chuckled, lightning crackling around the weapon, _Spread your wings and prepare to fly!_

Jeanne flexed her feathery appendages, leaping over the truck’s hood as the guard turned his back to the nephilim. With a flash, Jeanne shot forward like a bolt of lightning into the building, causing the guard to yelp and curse as the clap of thunder followed her maneuver. Now inside, she darted behind some abandoned crates, the guard yelling and waving a light in wide arcs, searching for her. Jeanne steadied her breath, panic clamping around her lungs and arms like vice grips, and she slowly brought The Long Kiss around to point it at the guard who was still looking for her.

“Father above, guide me now.” Jeanne whispered, voice buried by the rumbling inside the prison. She concentrated, conjuring a bullet into the chamber of her rifle, not seeking a kill, but a purification. Jeanne loosed the charge, a tranquiliser dart-like projectile of light launching into the back of the guard’s neck. He screamed, or rather the demon screamed, as it erupted from the man’s body, a vile plume of smoke and stink, it flung itself into the ground, seeping into the cracks between the cobblestones. Satisfied that nobody else was looking for her, Jeanne cautiously ventured further into the complex. Floodlights then flickered to life, filling the courtyard with harsh, white streams of illumination that swayed from side to side, surveying the ground. Within inches of the building now, Jeanne could hear the overhead speakers.

“Attention all prisoners! It’s time for a game of tag, if you don’t want to die, run. RUN!” 

Before Jeanne were slimmer, mechanical doors, and upon their opening, Jeanne could see a hundred cameras all pointed at the entrance. 

_Nevan, shall we put on a show?_

The devil arm cackled, a low warning rumble of thunder and rain gathering behind them. Jeanne hoped this would be over quickly enough, she doubted Morrison would like the turn of the weather in the corvette. Jeanne pulled Nevan from her back, returning the rifle to its stored position, and struck a power chord on the strings of the demonic instrument. Nevan’s bats flew high, and with a blinding flash, they unleashed an electric storm that incapacitated all the devices on the ceiling. There was a yell of surprise, and muffled orders, but Jeanne forced herself to focus on the mission, despite her adrenaline fuelled panic.

\-------

In the special cell block, Kerry was cowering when the doors cracked open.

“We’re gonna die...My sister sent you for nothing..” He lamented, whining and audibly shivering. Dante had sensed the demonic presences in the prison, and he was pretty sure that they had sensed _him_ too, which would be a cause for concern over Kerry’s immediate survival. But even through the thick steel and concrete, he could hear Nevan from a mile away, and he smiled. 

Jeanne was here, everything was going to work out. Even if his daughter had trouble believing in herself, her instincts were strong, and with Nevan guiding her, this shouldn’t be a problem. He could trust in Jeanne, like she trusted in him.

“I doubt this is just any ordinary game of tag,” Dante chuckled, eyes glowing red, he jumped from his lousy cot and flexed his shoulders, “But let’s give them a game to remember.” 

He threw his own door open, before entering Kerry’s cell, offering the much smaller man his hand.

“C’mon Kerry, I didn’t take this mission alone. Backup is coming, so we should get moving.” With as gentle a grip as he could manage, he pulled Kerry to his feet, and urged the nervous wreck of a man through the corridor, listening to the shrieks of the other prisoners, and...the possessed guards. A pair of demons had cornered them as they rounded the exit to the section, blood dripping from their claws, and bodies at their feet. They opened their reddened maws to scream, the sound disorienting Kerry, who fell against the nearest wall for support. Dante clenched his fist, preparing for a fight. A third demon entered the fray from above, falling onto Dante’s shoulders, the hunter rolled forward, barreling into all the demons, forcing them to move away. He slugged the one that had jumped him, the demon’s jaw dislocating with a satisfying and sickly _crunch_ , and then he grabbed its forearm, snapping it at an unnatural angle in a moment, bone sticking out from the greyed flesh. 

This only incensed the other two demons, however, and the broken bones of the first demon were already healing. Dante glanced at Kerry, who was dangerously close to blacking out -

And then before the hunter’s eyes was his own reflection in the blade of Rebellion, the weapon lodged between him and the pair of demons.

“Woah, I thought you were supposed to honour your father!” Dante gave a lopsided smile towards the shadowed figure in the hallway.

“I would honour him more if he didn’t go around getting _arrested_.” 

\------

The warden’s office reeked, and the warden himself felt less like a man possessed and more like a snake in a bag of fat and flesh, the demon that he’d bargained with writhing around within him to get away from Jeanne. 

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Jeanne bellowed, her armour gleaming even in the lowered light. The warden, or whatever was left of the miserable human that was possessed, was glowering at her, his own demonic claws flexing. He’d discarded his shirt and jacket, to allow the demon more freedom, which amounted to a smaller transformation than her own. In her holy form, she towered over the creature, and her divinity was causing its flesh to smoke.

“I don’t have time to waste on pipsqueaks like you! Get outta here, or I’ll eat you alive!” The creature called. Jeanne had been doubting her ability for the mission, but now that she saw the highest level of demon the prison had to offer, she was disgusted. She could smell the blood of countless victims, of false judgement and hasty condemnation, and it made her want to pour her stomach onto the warden’s head. 

“I’d like to see you try.” Jeanne raised Nevan in her scythe form, curved blade close to the floor, ready for an upwards swipe. Predictably, the warden leapt forward, into the path of Nevan’s uppercut, and the demon howled as a fresh, searing wound was made on its chest. Not deep, but painful and difficult to heal, and in the confusion, Jeanne was able to break open the desk to find her father’s weapons. She tucked Ebony and Ivory into the tie around her waist, and Rebellion rested against her side. Having retrieved her father’s effects, she ignored the posturing of the warden, and launched full force into the wall, breaking the bricks apart and barreling down the hallway with lightning-assisted wings. From the brief glance at the map on the wall, Jeanne knew she had to get through three layers of ordinary blocks, before she’d reach the beginning of the special cell block. She doubted she would be so lucky that her father would be in the regular holds.

All around her, Jeanne could smell and hear and see the disaster of the prison, the feeding of the demons and the results of a horrendous pact with a power that should have been left alone. While she was hurrying to her father, she played the most furious and intense melody she could think of, to at least subdue the demons and prevent them from killing too many more. Fingertips flew along the frets and strings, ignorant of the world around her, focused only on passing through broken and bloodied doorways, pretending that the sights around her didn’t make her want to weep her soul out.

Pretending this wasn’t the world she had seen in her father’s dreams.

So when she finally reached the special block, and saw her father surrounded, she threw Rebellion, not only as a distraction, but also in frustration and sorrow, a desperate act to try and banish the unpleasantness roiling around her gut. 

“Woah, I thought you were supposed to honour your father!” Dante’s faint smile didn’t reassure her, and angrily she replied.

“I would honour him more if he didn’t go around getting _arrested_.”

Dante grabbed the handle of his sword, then swung its flat around to knock the remaining demons out. Jeanne handed her father his guns, before releasing her transformation. He caught her as her knees gave out, Nevan humming lowly. 

“Jeanne, if you can get Kerry out, I’ll take care of these goons. I’ll see you on the outside, yeah?”

“What are we going to do about them? They’re possessed. We can’t just _leave them_.” Jeanne groaned, yawning into her hand. With help from her father, as he pondered the situation, they placed Kerry’s arm over Jeanne’s shoulders, Nevan choosing to take the form of a purple metal band, wrapping around Jeanne’s upper arm.

“Once you’re outside,” Dante spoke softly as they walked cautiously around still unconscious demons, “If I turn the sprinklers on, can you bless the water system?” 

There was a rumble of thunder, and in the sudden quietness of the prison, they could hear the rain.

“I can do you one better. Once I’m out, get them all into the courtyard.” Dante nodded, squeezing Jeanne’s hand before running to gather the demons.

\-------

Dante was impressed, by all accounts. The warden was sporting a smouldering scar, clearly made by Jeanne and Nevan, and was hissing at him despite the pain he should be in. By using the leader as a lure, Dante was dragging the troops out, the smaller demons following the son of Sparda not only for a chance at his blood, but also the possibility of becoming leader. He didn’t want these people to die, but not because they were innocent, no, because they _needed_ judgement passed on them. However, if the demon thought the host was in danger, they’d just eat the host alive and there’d be no real justice.

So Dante dangled the warden by his ankle over the courtyard in his own Trigger, wings flapping gently to keep him suspended. Rain was hissing as it evaporated off his naturally hot skin, and its constant and steady stream felt like a relief after the mess that was the inside of the building. Dante looked down once more, the peons were climbing over each other, trying to get to him and the demon he held. Then, they began wailing, Dante’s prisoner writhing in his grip. He let go, the warden landing with a crash into the bushes. The rain felt lighter, cleaner, and with a light like a ray of sunlight, Jeanne descended from the clouds, wings shining with power. They flew beyond the walls of the compound, landing next to the car, Morrison then driving them back into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random question
> 
> Does anyone else remember a Fullmetal Alchemist fic that had Maes Elric? Son of Winry and Edward? He had a lung implant thing, and he and the adopted daughter of Roy and Riza went on an adventure - she goes on to become the 'Soul Circle Alchemist' and in a sequel fic she went on to teach Edward a new alchemy to replace his lost alchemic powers.
> 
> IDK if someone can either tell me "yes that's been deleted" or "I know the one you're thinking of, here it is" that would be GREAT.


	11. Homecoming forewarned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally home from their trip, Dante prepares for more mundane life, and far away in the north of the country, another makes their move.

It was 3AM when Dante and Jeanne returned, drenched and smelling of iron. Both of them looked sullen, and Patty wasn’t quite sure what to feel in her sleep-addled state, except relief that Jeanne had indeed returned with Dante like she promised. Patty struggled with the sheet wrapped around her legs, but she worked herself free and approached the duo, pulling them both into as tight a hug as she could manage. Jeanne stiffened at the contact, and Dante melted, bringing his girls closer into an inhumanly warm embrace. Jeanne relaxed at last, leaning into the hug, and Patty smiled to herself. 

The next morning was bright and already warm by the time Jeanne and Dante awoke. Patty was already dressed, she was reading quietly while she waited, patient despite her stomach protesting its emptiness. 

“Morning Patty, Genie. How about we go and get breakfast?” Dante rubbed his face with his palms, willing himself properly awake. Jeanne sighed, fighting consciousness was a waste of energy now, sleep had left her as soon as her energy had mostly returned, and dreamless sleep was a luxury she didn’t often have - only granted when she was most exhausted. 

“Fine, but I’m cleansing your clothes first. Patty, if you wait in the lobby, we’ll see you there.” Jeanne instructed, walking around the small three bed room, reaching into her bag for a new dress, this one white with deep indigo printed butterflies and bright red roses, a type of glamour so well suited to Jeanne.

“Okay, but don’t take too long. We didn’t even have dinner!” Patty mock-whinged. Dante huffed in reply, removing his shirt button by button, already having handed off his jacket and vest to Jeanne in the bathroom.

\-----

After Patty left, Jeanne took the opportunity to speak to her father in confidence.

“That’s the kind of thing you see a lot, isn’t it?” 

Dante seemed dismissive, only grunting. Jeanne sighed, gripping the side of the tub tighter, concentrating on blessing the water.

“I understand there are things you won’t tell Patty, but you’re training me to hunt,” Jeanne admonished, the tub now glowing faintly with the blessed fluid, “Is this what my nightmares are to become? When I close my own eyes, will I only see the faces of countless lives I could not save?” Jeanne felt hot, wrathful tears spring into her eyes, as she threw her father’s clothes into the tub, the impurities murking up the water. Dante was silent, sitting on the bed in only a towel as he waited for his clothes to be ready. Jeanne threw the garments at his head, the heavy material landing with a thump. Dante turned sharply, his eyes flickering red.

“Jeanne,” Dante exhaled, slumping his shoulders further, “I can’t tell you this is going to be easy. Our lives will never be kind, and we’ll never be so lucky to save everyone,” Dante let out another shaky breath, pulling his pants back on, “But I had hoped that you’d have had more time before something like this. I’m sorry for the shit-show back there, I shouldn’t have made you come and get me.”

“Don’t say that.” Jeanne breathed, she gave her father a -admittedly cute- frown. Dante raised his brow, questioning her outcry.

“I can’t be your guardian angel, if I’m not guarding you. That’s not how it works.” She sighed again, tying her hair back into a fresh bun. She checked one more time that Rebellion and Nevan were in their cases, before picking up the bags.

“In any case, father, we should go meet with Patty.” Dante took the guitar cases, slinging them over his shoulders.

“Yeah, and I need to make a call.” 

\-------

Patty had insisted on buying breakfast today, a large allotment of baked treats and iced drinks, all taken back to Kerry’s residence. The house smelled of dust, but it was clean, and tragically empty. Eating breakfast seemed tense, there was unspoken hope for the day, but it was going to be met with horrible, harsh realities. Kerry thought his sister was still alive, and she had been in a way, but Dante would have to tell him soon, that there was no coming home party, and there never would be again.

“So,” Kerry mumbled, finishing his glass of juice, “I suppose I should go see the hospital huh. I wonder how-” 

“I wouldn’t go doing that, if I were you.” Dante cut him off, his own glass landing against the solid wood of the table. Kerry sat back in his seat, eyeing Dante cautiously, and Jeanne lowered her gaze to the ground, her feet shuffling in guilty anticipation.

“But my sister-” Dante reached into his waist pocket, revealing a gleaming silver and sapphire ring between his fingertips. He flicked it towards Kerry, who caught it by reflex. Staring at the object, he froze, his body numb.

“Your sister didn’t make it, after she heard you were arrested,” Dante began, standing up from his seat and urging Jeanne to help him clean up, “She died. It must have been traumatic for her, because she summoned a Griefer demon. Latched right onto that ring, and her ghost came and found me.” 

Jeanne and Patty wiped down the table and the dishes, listening as Dante shuffled around anxiously, Kerry muttering words under his breath, finally breaking down into tears when the message sunk in, a little over a half-hour later. The house back in order and leftovers stored, they were ready to leave.

“Wait- WAIT!” Kerry cried, his seat falling backwards as he stood up, pounding the table with his fists, “You’re telling me, this is all that _thing’s_ fault, the one in the river?”

“More or less, yes.” Dante answered flatly, as he stared out the nearest window to the train station a little beyond the houses he could see.

“If I hadn’t fished that thing up, if I’d never met it….I feel so stupid, I should have known-”

“Mister Marcus, you could never have known.” Jeanne stepped in, her gentle hands resting on the man’s shoulders, soothing his shakes of rage. 

“I don’t know if you realise the significance of it, but a demon gave up its food to save you. It wasn’t you that killed your friend, it was a demon. A demon hurt you, and you didn’t have any real part to play, other than finding it.” There was something in Jeanne’s eyes, as they shimmered in gold, that caused Kerry to lose his anger at himself. It brought the man to tears again, but this time resignation, not his prior grief.

“...I think...I think everything is going to hurt for a while but, I’ll be okay, right? That’s how it’s supposed to be, right?” Kerry pleaded, his hands tugging at his hair and vigorously scratching and rubbing his scalp and face. 

“If it ever gets too much,” Dante turned his back to the window, bringing the room’s attention to himself, “There’s a family near the station who have also lost people because of demons. Talk about it to them, rather than bottling it all up. That’s how you get nightmares, and...well. Best not to think about it.”

Kerry may not have heard it, but the message Jeanne heard in her father’s words was simple - _we can talk about those things, together_. It brought a fresh wetness to Jeanne’s eyes, and Patty seemed to sense it, the smaller girl reaching for Jeanne’s hand, squeezing it gently.

“Mister Marcus,” Patty smiled softly, “I think your sister is very happy. Wherever she is.”

Patty’s eyes rested on the photo that occupied the largest space on the hallway wall. Four figures, two children smiling brightly in front of their parents, sitting in a bright, floral field. 

\------------

The rest of the day was spent wandering around the small town, observing the wonders of the tiny fishing outlet. There were three different botanical gardens, each one with their own special seaweed and fish-based mulch that grew stupendously colourful blossoms, and their aromas easily buried the natural stink of the seawater and potting mediums. Patty loved the rose pavilion, thirteen frames covered in thirteen different blooms, each one more fascinating than the last. There had also been a small bird show, an eagle and an owl shown off as birds of prey, which actually got a smile out of Dante, and Jeanne had stared longingly at the statue in the middle of the church garden. 

Dante made a note to himself to take Jeanne to the church he got her seed from some time. 

Through Patty’s insistence and enthusiasm, Dante had been photographed no less than twenty times by Morrison, who remained in the town ‘on business’. (Dante asked him about cost, but the broker had merely replied that the new and rather adorable photos he’d captured would be enough to offset his debt for this outing.) And Patty cooed and cheered as she looked through the digital camera at her new memories, carefully putting it back into her purse. Soon enough, the clock registered the time as after 8PM, and Dante brought the girls back into the bar where he’d learned of Kerry’s fate.

Lady was sitting at a table in the center of the room, swirling a drink in her hand. She nodded to Dante and his travelling party, the hunter leaning down to speak to his younger companions. 

“You two, go sit with Morrison back there. Party’s gonna start real soon.” Dante smirked almost evilly, as the broker and the girls sat next to the wall, Jeanne seated closest to her father’s table. She carried with her Rebellion and Nevan in one case, which made it heavier than usual, but not impossible to maneuver around the legs of the furniture.

“He always does this, acts like he can have all the fun.” Patty huffed while looking at the menu. 

“What, is baby doll thinking about becoming a hunter like mean ol’ Lady over there?” Morrison chuckled into his glass of water.

“I could be a huntress! Just you watch, I’ll do it.” Patty responded grumpily. She missed the hollow stare that Jeanne gave her, the events of the previous night playing out in her head, and she imagined frail, weak, human Patty fighting those monsters. Her head was ringing, buried in the white noise of nightmare, until the clatter of a chair silenced the room. She swung her head around, to find Dante shielding himself with a chair as acid pooled onto the floor. Exposed, the demon tried to shrink away, as Kerry yelled at it, declaring it the mysterious killer of his friend. The demon slithered, like goo, and Jeanne lifted the guitar case just enough for Rebellion to fly out of it like an arrow, into the demon’s sludge body, the blade oozing to the floor and the monster screaming in realisation of its enemy. 

Dante was out of the door in an instant, able to sense this coward of a demon as it slinked into an alleyway. Jeanne was not far behind him, leaping into the night sky to better see the layout. 

“Father!” Jeanne cried, the curse demon spread several gooey tentacles towards Dante, the hunter leaping backwards, shooting the demon’s shielded eyes, breaking their jewels, effectively blinding the beast. With a strum on Nevan, a single bolt of lightning struck the masked creature, causing it to pool limply in the shadowed cobblestone path. Lady emerged from the bar, weapons raised, toeing the mask with her boot while Dante approached slower, Rebellion’s tip at the mask’s nose.

“Lotta trouble for a tiny thing like you. You’d better be worth it, pal!” Dante yelled as he sliced the mask in two. There was a plume of smoke, the demon’s presence fading, but the shadow of a newcomer alarmed Dante, and by its scent, Jeanne was rankled. The nephilim descended sharply and landed beside the ugly, low-level demon from Patty’s orphanage.

“ _YOU_!” Jeanne spat, Nevan’s scythe around his neck. His clawed fingers were wrapped around the two halves of the mask from the curse demon, and the remaining hunters soon had their pieces aimed at the cretin.

“Now now, let’s not be so hasty, you don’t even know _what_ this is for! You’d hate to spoil your own surprise!” The demon chortled, sliding under Nevan’s blade with a practiced ease, and vanishing into the rooftops, Dante preventing Jeanne from giving chase.

“Let me go! I’m going to-” Jeanne hissed and snarled, trying to tear her arm away from her father.

“You’re not going to do anything. Lady and I will take care of Sid. Something doesn’t add up here, and I’m through putting you in thoughtless danger. Where did you even recognise Sid from?” Dante demanded. At this point, Patty and Morrison had also gathered with Lady, as she ran them through the events that had unfolded.

“The orphanage, with Patty,” Jeanne admitted, begrudgingly, “I promised I’d shoot him when next we met.” 

Dante gave Jeanne a thoughtful look, shaking his head after a while.

“Offer can still be on the table. You just need to work with me, okay Genie?”

Jeanne nodded, accepting her father’s hug.

\------

It was midday when Patty left Devil May Cry, their arrival back at the office had not been until the early morning, and Patty hadn’t been inclined to go anywhere until she’d slept at least a little. Jeanne and Dante had remained awake, apparently their nap after the prison escape had been enough, although Patty had caught Jeanne softly snoring during the car ride home. 

Just as Dante reached for the phone to order a pizza to fill his craving, as Jeanne was unwilling to cook for once, it rang. 

“Devil May Cry,” He answered.

“....I’m...Sorry.” The voice on the other end was hesitant, and airy, like someone fighting with their own voice to speak. Dante felt the irritation roll over him, the caller hadn’t even given him a name, but there was a shout in the background that gave it away immediately.

Nesty had called. And suddenly the irritation washed away, and Dante listened in earnest to her next words.

“I was...a jerk. Kerry came around and...I’m sorry. I...I’ve been angry this whole time at you and...I hadn’t even thought about it properly. I guess seeing you again, it just...brought up a lot of memories, good and bad.”

There was a pause, and Dante merely waited for the end of this confession, his hunger abandoned for curiosity and concern.

“I understand you were younger then, less in control. You being able to save Kerry and set those prison guards to rights...I guess you’re not the monster that I made you out to be. I’m choosing to believe you, Dante. Don’t make me regret that, don’t let me mourn my lost family any more.” 

There was a click on the line, and Dante felt satisfied. Jeanne gave him a questioning glance, and he shrugged.

He wanted to have his secrets.

\-------

Somewhere in New York there was a witch scholarly hall, where alchemists and witches could learn and practice their arts in peace.

And there, right now, was a blonde woman with a bright blue matron’s dress marking her rank among the alchemists. She held a silver pendant with a blue gem in one hand, and in the other, an illustration from a book.

She put the illustration down on top of the book on the table, and replaced the pendant around her neck, its weight familiar to her skin. 

“Show me, Patricia,” The alchemist-witch breathed into a glass ball. The surface of the orb shifted like parting clouds and fog, and in its glittery gaze, was a girl with similar hair to her own laying in a bed in the orphanage, two bags at the foot of her bed, and her clothes tousled like she’d been wearing them for more than a day.

And she frowned.

Her protective charm was shining like a star.


	12. A Royal Flushing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne has almost had it with possession demons.

Far above, in the plane that can see all but not be seen itself, The Right Hand was watching the child closely. Again clutching their Celestia, he ran a digit over a faint fracture in its golden ring, and he frowned at the image displayed in the misty orb. 

The child had been confronted by the horror of demons, their true nature, and the small amount of demon and human blood within her was causing a conflict that could tear her apart. The human side was afraid, shocked and shaken and yet - the demon within was excited, stoked by the smell of blood and fear. Because demons and angels were so closely related, it was easy for an angel to turn into a full demon, and The Right Hand hoped it would not come to that. 

He hoped he would never have to strike her down. 

So he watched, patiently, as she played on that electrified lyre, and he prayed. 

\----------

It had been only a week, a full week, before they were knee deep in possession type demons again. Jeanne was still reeling from the surreal nature of the prison demons, but this was new. After they’d come home, Dante had gone to training her again, with a backdrop of talking about the horrific things he’d seen in his life, of bodies piled high, buried in webs and drained of blood to fuel a tower - the way his mother had been splayed out on the front step of his childhood home. 

But Jeanne had already seen these things, buried in her father’s very soul, scorched into a memory so deep that it had to hurt to carry, but Dante spoke of them as if they were simply expected, and he dealt with them by ignoring them. 

_”Demons,”_ he said, _”Are no better than animals. What they do, I think of it like watching lions or whatever in one of those nature shows. That’s just how they are.”_

After looking rather sullen, and breaking out of a blade lock with Nevan and Rebellion, Dante had finished his thought in its entirety. 

_”There are humans that are worse than demons,”_ Dante’s face lost all its colour for a second, recalling the faces he’d cursed - Arkham, Arius, even his own brother Vergil - _”And those are the worst memories to deal with. Don’t put too much thought into the demons, Genie, they’re not the real enemy.”_

On that last point, Jeanne had to disagree, due to her divine nature, but she understood what her father meant. Looking around the lavish boat, seeing the numerous patrons wander around in too much gold, silk and makeup, watching their hedonism, Jeanne pitied them. Their foolishness and selfish desires _allowed_ the demonic to overshadow them. And Jeanne hated it.

Patty was with her and Morrison, as they patrolled the area outside the room Dante was busy playing poker in. Well, playing is a rather grandiose term for saying losing as much as he won. At least he could break even, but even then Jeanne had no love for gambling, and she hoped that Patty would leave her fascination with these silly games behind soon.

\------

“Please,” the woman pleaded, “You have to save my husband! He’s changed, he never used to gamble, but now he can’t help himself!” 

The woman was early thirties, had long, curly dark hair and wore a simple but elegant wine coloured bolero jacket over a chocolate coloured dress, her face had gone rather gaunt - the recent weeks had clearly taken a toll. Dante looked at the watch in his hands, it was a simple silver thing, nothing of interest. Unless you could sense demons, in which case you could tell immediately that this thing was cursed out the wazoo. Morrison had brought this case to his attention, the broker convinced that this case was more than a gambling addict in trouble - and now that Dante had this watch, it confirmed Morrison’s suspicions.

“Gambling is an illness, but unlike the common cold, there’s no cure for it yet.” Dante lamented, he snapped the watch shut, then stared at the cover of it. He turned to properly face his client, who clenched her hands closer to her chest. Dante let out a breathy laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get your husband back. In the meantime, mind telling me where he’ll be?” The lady’s eyes lit with hope, and her pallid face flushed with joy. 

“The Conqueror’s Floatilla,” she said, sadness creeping into her tone, “They’ve opened it up as an all-night short cruise around the harbour waters. He’ll be there, like clockwork.”

Dante waved to Morrison, who graciously saw the client out. Lady and Patty, who had been playing pool, looked over in confusion at the hunter. Jeanne was out at the moment, at the usual apartment job.

“What’s so special about the watch then, Dante?” Lady asked. Dante threw her the object, and she caught it easily as it approached her face, shielded by her hand. She turned it over in her hands, and then it hit her. Like her father, this thing smelled like something sickly sweet and dusty - in other words, a demon. Patty gestured to see the watch, and Lady slung it by its chain over her neck. The girl was entranced by its shine.

“I see. Well, what’s the plan?” Dante cocked his head to the side, leaning back into his chair, thinking for a moment.

“Ya ever heard of a gambler called King?” He pondered aloud, Lady shaking her head, “Well, I went to the bar a couple days ago. Heard some guys in the back mention him, something about a legendary gambler turning up recently.”

Lady nodded slowly, contemplating the information, “You think this King is on that boat, where that woman’s husband is.” 

Dante hummed in reply. He was about to speak again, when the door slammed open, and Jeanne shot forwards into Patty, the girl moving with sharp jerks, as she levelled Ivory at Dante’s head. Jeanne was at her throat in a moment, purple skirt fluttering, wings flashing behind her. 

“Patty…” Jeanne hissed, her hands planted firmly on Patty’s shoulders, the older girl taking Ivory from Patty’s now limp grip, tucking it into her apron’s pocket, followed shortly by the silver watch. Patty fell backwards, and Jeanne easily caught her, easing her to the floor. Dante leaped over his desk, face full of worry, and Lady was equally as concerned, appearing behind Jeanne.

“You’re back early,” Dante mused, un-gloving his hand to check Patty’s temperature, “She’s just unconscious.”

“Father,” Jeanne spoke in disbelief as she retrieved the watch, “I want this thing destroyed. How could you let this happen?!” Lady coughed, her face reddening.

“Um, that was probably my fault, Jeanne. I put it around her neck without thinking.” Lady admitted, helping Dante make Patty comfortable on the couch. 

“I also need it, Genie. It’s my invitation, okay?”

Which was why she was no aboard the cruise ship, the Conqueror’s Floatilla, dressed to the nines in a violet, satin off the shoulder gown which ended at her calves, Nevan disguised as a hairpin in her white locks, neatly piled into a beehive style. Patty was also dressed accordingly, in a rosy pink princess frock, her hair tied into a loose pair of braids which kept the rest of her mane in check. 

_You remind me of your grandfather, princess,_ Nevan chuckled quietly into the back of Jeanne’s mind, the sidhe’s presence like a pleasant, cool rain, _Always so concerned with the human way of life._

_If you say so_. 

\-------

Inside the table room, Lady was acting as the dealer, having gotten herself inserted into the ship crew rather easily. Dante was to her left, barely staying in the game, and to his right was Lucky Amanda, said to have the luck of a goddess, Santa Claus, a man able to read minds apparently, then Golden Arm Joe, and finally the husband that they’d been hired to rescue. The owner of the Burlington Port Cruise ship had volunteered to pay the hunters to deal with the situation in the private gambling suite, the number of people going missing on his ship was starting to hurt his business.

Dante was wearing his invitation around his neck, and Lady could see the other invitations on the other guests, minus their mark. Joe had hidden a golden bangle under his shirt sleeve, which Lady could see as he revealed his full house compared to Dante’s two pairs. Lucky Amanda had a ruby jewel around her right index finger, and Santa Claus’ glasses were much the same. Every one of them stank of demonic energy, and it was starting to put Lady on edge. Then Joe began rambling about King, and the rest of the table suddenly became more lively.

It was definitely connected then, and the glance that Dante shot her only confirmed their plan of action. 

What she hadn’t expected, was that Joe would collapse, dead, after his neighbour’s declaration of victory. A near-winner had suddenly passed away, for reasons inexplicable to the average person. It only seemed to incite Amanda and Santa, however, as Lady placed a sheet over Joe’s corpse. After that event, Patty, Morrison and Jeanne all quietly appeared at the top of the staircase. 

“He’s losing _badly_ ,” Patty lamented under her breath to Morrison, who shrugged, taking a puff of his cigar. 

“What, think you can do better?” Patty placed her hands on her hips, cheeks puffed in irritation. She marched down the stairs as Dante left for the bathroom, his watch on the table. Patty took the object up, waving to Lady. 

“Alright miss, if you’re certain.” She said cordially, trying to deflect the sudden cold shiver she felt as her hunting partner had exited the room.

\------

Far away, Nina Lowell was taking a train to the south, her meagre possessions stuffed into a suitcase, and a phone in hand. She waited for the ringing to stop, a sign that Simon had picked up.

“Hello, Nina? It’s been some time.” The man sounded just as he had all those years ago, gentle and warm, and Nina tried not to cry as she relayed her message.

“Simon, listen,” Nina spoke as quietly as she could manage into the device’s microphone, “I’m coming down the coast right now, I’ll meet you at your place and we can discuss this more in detail once I see you.” She clicked the end button, Simon agreeing to host her. 

She didn’t hear Simon cackle like a fairy tale witch.

\---------

After Patty had taken over Dante’s hand, they had doubled their initial chip count and a little more, the girl grinning like a cheshire cat as Amanda met her fate, falling forward over her cards, pain taking over her rather graceful features - it was a truly gruesome death - and Dante brought the girl out of her reverie. His hand felt cold, and there was a threat of claws hidden by his gloves. He demanded the watch back, and suddenly Patty was uneasy. Jeanne caught her again, lifting her carefully up the stairs on the side again, the nephilim desperately trying to quell her need to purify the entire ship. 

“Please watch her, I’ll go get some water.” Jeanne decided, leaving for the refreshment room she’d seen behind the suite door, tucked away from all the activity. It was a tiny kitchen, a fridge, counter and two kettles - snacks and drink components neatly packaged against the wall and in the cupboards. Jeanne reached for a glass, and in its reflection caught the sight of a figure behind her. Dressed like a waitress in the ship’s uniform, was a demon. 

It hissed, eyes narrowing at Jeanne, and Jeanne growled back, 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” 

The demon laughed into its hand, banishing its malicious sneer from before. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, miss. May I help you?” 

Jeanne sighed, letting her features smooth, finishing her task of getting a glass of water for Patty.

“No thank you, I’m just fine.” Jeanne walked as calmly as she could towards Patty and Morrison. Over the back of the room, she could see the dawn slowly breaking on the horizon, rays of light washing the city a faint pink. As Patty downed her drink, looking even more drained than when she’d left in the first place, Jeanne finally saw that Santa had also died, covered by one more sheet. It was now only her father and the husband, both looking rather haggard.

The waitress from before wandered into the room, quietly, as if a snake preparing to strike. Like a crack of thunder, Lady shot Dante in the chest. Jeanne forced herself to watch, forced herself to remain calm - she knew that they wanted to lure the real demon out - Dante’s death was a ruse. The husband looked panicked, the nameless waitress laughing and ranting about him attracting more gambling souls for her to consume, when Dante retaliated with his own bullet, the demon forming a defensive wall of wind. 

“I think I’ve heard enough.” The hunter groaned as he climbed off the floor. Jeanne pulled Nevan from her hair, striking the tendril of shadow the demon threw towards Lady and Dante with a bolt. Patty, as instructed, ran for the husband with Lady, escorting him out of the room. Less a few bodies, Dante and Jeanne took up position either side of the offensive creature.

The demon screamed, flying forward with shadow tentacles extended towards Dante, who sliced them easily with Rebellion. Jeanne followed through with a twisting cut from Nevan’s scythe, the blade biting into the ankles and shoulders of the demon’s body, causing smouldering wounds, more shadowy tentacles melting from within the creature, trying desperately to seal the cuts. Between its opened teeth, as it roared in frustration, Dante shoved Ebony into its maw and fired once, a smoking, gaping hole now at the back of its crown. It deflated like a balloon, the demon melting into the floor of the room, just as the sun touched its shadow.

“...what a waste.” Jeanne whispered, walking towards the covered bodies. Tears sprung to her eyes as she touched the sheet covering Amanda. Dante came to her side, offering a slightly raised arm for a hug, which she embraced ferociously, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, buried under her long hair. 

“They knew what they were getting into, Genie. It’s not your fault.” Dante offered, patting her back in slow, long lines, feeling his daughter fall exhausted into his chest.


	13. The Last, The Wish Punished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a duel to the death, a date to die for, just as Sid intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11.5 pages of words, and 3 days to write this chapter. Please enjoy and critique!! I want to know how to improve for the next part of this series, and all that. Thank you so much for reading!!

Jeanne still dreamed of the boy, when she dared to sleep. He was still cagey about her, never giving her full answers to any questions she had, but at least he stopped threatening her with knives. This time, they’d been in his room, and she’d talked to him at length of the people he lived with - Credo and Kyrie - whose parents had fostered Nero for some time. 

“Yeah, Credo,” Nero smiled to himself, “He’s my mentor at the academy as well as at home. He’s always on my ass for something or another, I can never seem to do enough right for him.” 

“And you feel disappointed because of your failings.” Jeanne surmised. Nero’s pointed look at the floor only indicated that Jeanne had indeed touched the truth. 

“And because you feel like a failure, you also feel guilty of the affection you have for Kyrie.” Another truth that seemed uncomfortable for Nero to understand. He looked out the window at the night sky above the island. Here, where the city was nothing like Capulet, you could see the evening and the morning stars as they twinkled against the inky darkness.

“You know Nero,” Jeanne gripped her knees through her dress, willing her heart to steady, “I also feel like a failure. Twice now, I have let people die rather preventable deaths - because I was not fast enough to act.”

“Father tells me it isn’t my fault but -” Jeanne paused as Nero gave her a softened expression, nodding in understanding. One thing they had in common, beyond the family Nero was unaware he even had, was their training to become demon hunters. 

“It always feels like it is.” Nero finished for her. They sat in silence for a while, both of them looking at the seam of sky and earth. 

“We will find you Nero. I promise.”  
Nero had told her of the Order of the Sword, a collection of knights who deemed their mission sacred - to crush the power of hell beneath their heels. Jeanne doubted very much that for an order who followed her grandfather, that they’d appreciate her own father much. 

“Who says I want to be found, princess?” Nero rubbed the side of his nose, laying back into his mattress. Jeanne rose smoothly to her feet from Credo’s bed, and stared out the window intensely. 

“It’s not for your sake, Nero, but ours.” 

\-------

This time they’d gone out at night to train. Dante had brought Jeanne to the park where the Temen-Ni-Gru had been raised, and put her through her paces, demanding she shoot not through her sight, but through her _sight_. It was poorly explained to her, but with Rebellion on her back, she better understood her father’s method of aiming. It was less that she was shooting at him because she could see him, and more that through sheer force of will, her rifle’s muzzle never left his direction. Naturally, Dante managed to dodge most of the shots, only a few landing their mark in his side. 

When they had finished, a fine fog had rolled in off the sea, and in the pale light of the early morning, it was almost impossible to see through it. 

They’d been walking in a different direction to the shop however, Jeanne noticed through her daze, and she was suddenly aware why. Like a whip crack, a smaller, wraith-like demon had approached Dante from the alleyway, and with a sharp stab of Rebellion it had wilted like a dying flower, not so much as a shout of surprise. Even more suddenly however, a mass of solid white launched out of the misty distance and into Dante’s face. Jeanne yelped when two long, hooked swords pinned her father to the wall, the hunter not even seeming fazed.

“You, you’re the son of Sparda?” The white-clad demon grumbled. Jeanne was behind her father, easily hidden in the fog, so she prepared The Long Kiss to fire, drawing it carefully from her back, but the mechanism jammed.

That was bad timing. 

“So what if I am?” Dante quipped, rolling his eyes. He had really grown tired of these types, always after his father and never him. It was like he wasn’t even his own person, only a half-copy of Sparda. 

“Then I’ll take your soul.” The demon seethed, bringing one of his blackened blades free from the wall, ready to strike, when a rocket whistled through the air, landing at Dante’s feet. Jeanne braced from the force of the impact, refusing to move an inch. Once the shockwave and cloud of dust settled, the demon was nowhere to be seen. 

“Genie!” Dante called. Jeanne ran to her father’s side, just as Lady appeared out of the fog.

“Yes father.” Dante levelled an ugly look at Lady, who turned away. 

“What happened?” He said after a while, Lady mumbling something about a white demon and racing off into the white--washed streets. 

“My rifle jammed. I probably need to clean it.” Jeanne confessed, face warm from shame.

“Ah, okay. At least you’re alright.” Dante gently squeezed her hand, before leading her back towards the shop, where he could supervise her weapon maintenance.

\-----

“As you can imagine,” it had been two days since Nina arrived at her friend Simon’s apartment, but she still spoke in a hushed tone, “I almost went into a full meltdown over this. Alan’s Tear, this heirloom I’ve got, someone or something is moving to unleash the demon it’s sealing.” 

Inwardly, Sid was laughing, but he feigned the voice of Simon, his mannerisms, keeping a straight face as he prepared cups of tea. 

“And you came here, closer to Capulet, to save Patty?”

Nina shook her head, a sorrowful look washing over her eyes as she swirled the spoon in her hot tea slowly.

“No, not save her. I’ve heard talk of a powerful demon hunter in the area, and I need you to confirm for me, if he is really here - the Son of Sparda.”

That drew Sid’s attention - he had assumed that this was to be easy, that Nina Lowell was just an above average witch, barely capable of sealing low-level demons, but the fact she _knew_ Dante existed was worrying. If she knew more than just his lineage, she may also know what affectations he held for the younger Lowell, as she had all but installed herself as part of his family now. Sid took a deep breath to calm himself, remembering that he was a demon - deception came easily enough, he just had to wait for the perfect moment.

“Of course, I know exactly who you want. Dante Redgrave, he’s not too far to drive to, but that’ll still have to wait a few more days.”

Nina nodded, sipping her drink slowly. 

\--------

“And don’t forget you have to do this every other day, especially if you insist on using that thing more frequently.” Dante warned, as he oiled the last part of the mechanism, the barrel pieces all locking back together perfectly. 

“I won’t, father.” Jeanne promised, replacing the weapon among the racked guns in the garage. She returned just as the front door opened, revealing Patty in all her frilly splendour, wearing a fantastically lacy blue dress with many white skirts, a matching blue band holding her hair back.

“Dante!” Patty yelled, walking with purpose towards the man’s solid wood desk, slamming her hands onto her hips and pouting.

“School was awful, make me feel better, okay?” The blonde demanded. Dante and Jeanne exchanged glances, shrugging in agreement. What _could_ they do about this girl? 

“Well,” Dante smiled fondly, twirling a long, silver spoon in his fingers, having found the object in a small pile on his desk, “I always find a good meal to fix my mood. Come on girls.” He pointed with the round end of the spoon to the garage entrance, planning to take them to Fredi’s for a sundae and maybe grilled sandwiches.

“Daaaaanteeee,” Patty grumbled, “If you comfort eat all the time, you’ll get fat!”

“You say that like you don’t eat a hundred of Genie’s cakes when she makes them!” Dante jested, and Patty didn’t seem to take that well, at all. She huffed, sputtering a retort as she followed him and Jeanne to the car.

“That’s...different, compared to your pizza habit.” Patty whispered.

At Fredi’s diner, just as he’d planned, Dante ordered a sundae and two toasted sandwiches. Today, there was a man in all black clothes, shirt, vest, pants, trench coat and knee boots and long black hair sitting at the counter, eating his own sundae, Dante’s treat delayed in coming. He half-listened to the conversation, the man in black riling Fredi up, saying something about the icy dessert being too sweet. When Cindy finally gave Dante his own, he regretted almost completely putting the spoonful in his mouth. 

On his tongue, it felt like someone just emptied a thousand sugar packets, it burned and felt dry and flavourless.

“You should listen to this guy, Fredi,” Dante coughed into his fist, Patty and Jeanne sitting close to the edges of their seats, unsettled by the arguing, “This sundae is too sweet, and that’s coming from a sweet-tooth!”

Fredi kicked all his patrons out, the man in black, Dante and his daughters, Cindy waving apologetically to them through the glass door, as Fredi stalked off in a depressed slump. 

“I see you’re a man of good taste,” Dante rubbed his jaw in consideration as he studied the man in black, “You’re new in town to boot.” 

“Yes well,” The strange man spoke quietly, and as he fiddled with his hair, Dante spotted pointed ears, “I just wanted a decent sundae. I’d heard good things about this place.” 

“Hey Jeanne,” Patty turned to the older girl, pensive, “Can’t you just make a sundae for Dante and this guy?”

“Why do you think father gets his sundaes from here, Patty?” Jeanne tilted her head in confusion as Patty blinked owlishly at her. 

“Ohhh, well…” Patty pouted again, before clapping her hands together, “I’ll make them! Come on, let’s go get the ingredients.” 

Jeanne shot Dante a resigned look, and followed the blonde bolt of energy. 

“They seem lively, are they yours?” The man asked. 

“The white haired one, Jeanne, she’s mine. Patty just hangs around for some reason.” Dante replied, chuckling softly as he stared into the darkening sky, clouds had overtaken the late Summer early Autumn day, and it smelled like rain was on the horizon.

“I see, yes, that makes sense,” The man adjusted his sleeves absently, “I could smell you on one of them, I just wasn’t certain. I am Modeus, I served your father, son of Sparda.” Dante was taken slightly aback - this was Modeus? Spoken of in his father’s journals? He seemed so...unlike his description as a demon of the sword. Then that white demon from before, that must have been…

“...if you see Baul, please let me know. I must get on my way.” Modeus bowed slightly as he headed in the opposite direction, towards the city center, just as Patty and Jeanne returned with a bag full of confectionary ingredients. Patty was breathing heavily, having sprinted to make it back in time to invite the strange man in black to Devil May Cry for a decent treat, only to find him walking away.

“What did you do, Dante? I was going to make him and you a sundae!” Patty whined, deflated. Dante was brought out of his stupor in an instant. His expression grew dark, and he felt his heart rate increase - that white demon, Baul, was intent on killing Dante, and he’d also know how to fight the hunter one on one, since they both used a very similar style to Sparda’s. Dante watched the road emptily, and the sundae that Patty made him later, despite its gorgeous appearance and aroma, it tasted like ash. 

_”I’ll take your soul.”_ Baul’s words played on Dante’s mind, and he wondered about Modeus, if his sudden appearance, and even more sudden disappearance was part of Baul’s attempt on his life.

He looked over to Jeanne, who was patiently playing on Nevan, the devil arm purring under her ministrations. He saw in her face, both his own youthful, boyish features, and his mother, cheeks taught in fear and a tristesse unto her own, when she’d placed him in the wardrobe and went off to find Vergil.

Before his eyes flashed an image, an impression, of Jeanne carrying the Devil Sword Sparda into a torrential rain, Trish and Lady simply letting her go into the darkness, his daughter without a father - just like him. And he hated it, he hated feeling like this, like there was so much to lose. But Jeanne’s quiet steadiness, her gentle love was easy on his soul, and Patty’s own bombastic way of caring for him, between brow beatings and teary upsets, he’d hate for the orphaned blonde to lose that part of her childhood.

So Dante made a call, he waited for the rings to turn into a voice, and he felt a fire in his blood as he spoke. 

“Trish, I need some information. Meet me in an hour at the usual dive.” 

\--------

Despite Trish’s apparent freedom from Dante, the demoness still held onto her life debt - she doubted it would ever be repaid, really. And in the end, she’d never want to consider it repaid, that would leave her open to other contracts, and she wasn’t interested in being anyone’s pawn ever again. 

So when he called her to do a favor, she listened. She’d been lucky in quickly locating a weakling demon to lure into the back alley warehouse to interrogate, Dante lurking just out of sight. 

“So baby, shall we get started?!” Trish hated these demons, they’d put on a human facade, act sleazy with _just_ enough charm to attract prey, and then they’d immediately shatter the illusion so they could eat. It was typical, and boring, and if it hadn’t been Dante that had called her to do this, she’d have just shot the bastard with his human flesh on.

“No, I don’t think so.” Trish ripped a volley of bullets from Luce and Ombre into the walls around the half-pint of a demon, the creature now cowering in fear under her boots, one on its knee and the other firmly digging its sharpened heel into the chest.

“Listen, you weasel,” Trish’s voice was filled with a smug arrogance, knowing how much more powerful she was than this insect of a demon, “You’re going to tell me about a white demon that’s come to town, or you can become a bloodstain on the wall. Your choice.” Trish shrugged, releasing the force of her heel slightly, relieving some of the pain etched into the demon’s mangled and repulsive face. 

“A-alright, I’ll talk!”

\------------

Baul was not patient, nor would he ever _be_ patient. Sid had miraculously shed his disguise of Simon to come and see the brother of Modeus, acolyte of Sparda. The white-clad demon sniffed, catching onto Sid’s underwhelming presence, grabbing him by his shirt front, lifting the shorter demon to Baul’s eye level. 

“You didn’t tell me Dante has friends.” Baul growled, it was a final warning, and Sid was not about to let his plan go to waste. He felt his own ire rising as he recalled that Lady and Trish, business partners to the Devil May Cry proprietor were still actively in town, but he didn’t know why. Normally Trish would pop in for a few days, and Lady was only ever on the phone, if at all with the hunter, information the lesser demon had accumulated over a long period of time. 

“I didn’t think they’d stick around to be a significant problem.” Sid choked out, struggling against Baul’s grasp, his feet scrambling for purchase. 

“Please let me go!” Sid protested, “I can barely breathe! Please!” 

As if beholding something truly worthy of being reviled, Baul dropped Sid on the ground like a stone, he landed with a thud, and a searing pain shot through his lower body. 

“It doesn’t matter now. Tell me how to get to the place, and,” Baul smiled dangerously, rows of sharp, inhuman teeth on display, “Maybe, maybe I’ll let you live - under my heel.” 

_For your sake and mine_ , Sid thought, sneering in the direction Baul went, _I hope Dante kills you_. 

\-----------

Modeus decided he liked this city, Capulet, as he sat in the park on the other side of town, a mirror image of the Temen-Ni-Gru garden, except this one had a statue of Sparda. He looked a little more human, his horned helmet shorter than his actual horns, wrinkly weathered skin wrapping around an aggressive scream, Force Edge raised high. It often surprised Modeus, that despite the details so often placed in human art, that they forgot the Legendary Dark Knight’s two other blades, Force Edge usually being the only weapon present. 

Modeus had wondered about Sparda for centuries, the old demon just vanishing one day after serving Fortuna as its feudal lord, leaving him and Baul to their own devices, long after the rebellion had ended. Over time, Baul had become furious that he was unable to further his strength, and that there seemed to be no longer a need for it - these humans were able to fight their own battles, and Sparda had also never left them a way to find him, until it was too late. The dark lord Mundus had evidently caught up to his former lieutenant, and now he was gone from this realm, and perhaps all others too. Now it was just Dante, and his child Jeanne, who carried Sparda’s blood, and his blade. But there was something off about the red-clad hunter, he smelled like only _half_ of his former lord’s power. He wondered if there was another child of Sparda elsewhere.

“Hey! You’re that sundae guy from yesterday!” Patty, Modeus remembered, waltzed up to him on the bench, Jeanne looking exasperated as she followed the smaller girl.

“Oh, you remembered. How surprising.” Modeus gave a faint, pleasant smile, and the girls sat next to him, Patty between him and Jeanne. 

“How could anyone forget! You’re the only guy in town who looks like Dante.” Patty stretched into the sky, launching easily into a conversation with the demon swordsman, asking him about his travels and thoughts on Capulet. Jeanne remained mostly quiet, only answering in single words or sounds when Patty asked her a question, otherwise she seemed asleep, eyes mostly closed against the sunny day, hands neatly folded in her lap over the rich, purple fabric of her dress. It reminded Modeus painfully of his lord’s preferred hue.

“...Anyway, if you want to come with us, I’ll make you that sundae! Dante looked all sour just before, another icecream would probably make him feel better, too.” Patty finished, launching off the bench, enthusiasm radiating from her like sunlight.

“I suppose I can do so. Please, lead the way.” Modeus offered his hand to Jeanne, to help her stand, but the girl refused. 

“Thank you, but I am quite fine, and I’d rather you not burn.” Jeanne responded to the gesture, and even though he retracted his limb, Modeus could feel the power under Jeanne’s skin, like a river of lava, and realised what exactly Dante had meant. With his superior vision, he caught a glimpse of a gem in her chest, right under her collar bones, and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

He hoped that Dante wouldn’t run into Baul, he couldn’t let him get a Seed.

\-------

Devil May Cry, the shop that Dante ran, was pleasantly clean and open, the couches easy to sit in and the music enjoyable. The hunter in question, and the swordsman, were both savouring Patty’s delightfully charming strawberry creations. White chocolate hearts had been placed on the top, strawberries cut into fan shapes placed all around the rim of the cup, and the sauce had apparently been home-made. Unlike the sugary disaster Fredi had served Modeus, there was an element of tartness from the natural flavour of the berries, and the icecream was rich with vanilla, which only elevated the taste of the sauce.

“Truly, this is delightful, miss Patty.” Modeus thanked the small girl, and she replied with a bow, returning to her work. Homework sheets were spread over the desk Dante usually used, the hunter sitting in the couch opposite Modeus, and Jeanne was upstairs settling something in the kitchen. There was a rattle of the door knocker.

“Come in!” Patty called, humming absently as she scratched out another problem on her working paper. The room dropped several degrees as a large shadow overtook the main part of the floor, and the jukebox fell suddenly silent. Patty raised her eyes, and found a large man, muscles almost as big as her head, dressed in a white version of Modeus’ attire, white blonde hair clipped short into horn shapes. She glanced over to Dante, who was levelling a pistol at the guy, Modeus growling like a dog.

“Brother, what is the meaning of this?” Modeus politely put his spoon into the empty glass cup on the table, then raised from the couch to meet his apparent brother. The man snarled in response, and a black blade was quickly in his hand, raised to the neck of Modeus. Patty gasped in shock, and pushed the chair she was sitting on back to the wall, her head under the maw of the concrete monster that was splayed behind the desk.

“I have come for you, son of Sparda. I will take your soul,” Baul licked his lips, Dante now stalking around to shield Patty from view, both his guns now raised, “And with it, I’ll finally have that which is rightfully mine!” Dante grimaced. 

“Father?” Jeanne cried out, leaning over the railing of the staircase, rapidly descending to Dante’s side. Baul made another ugly grin, teeth on display as he looked Jeanne up and down, a low laugh coming from his throat. 

“Genie, get Patty out of here.” 

“But father-!”

“DO IT!” Dante growled, his head snapping towards his daughter. Baul took that moment to strike, a second sword materialising, quickly swinging downwards over Dante’s left shoulder.

It was blocked in a shower of blue sparks, Nevan’s scythe catching the sword before it could land.

“Enough of this! Baul, if you want to take Sparda’s power, fight me first.” Modeus snapped, gripping his brother’s sword by its hook, throwing it with a surprising amount of force back into the larger demon. 

“No,” Dante interjected, holstering his pistols. He raised his hand, Rebellion sailing through the air towards him, “I’ll see you at the park in four hours, the one with the statue. We’ll settle the matter, properly.” 

This seemed to please Baul, as he cackled, vanishing in a puff of smoke. Modeus gave a rueful expression to the hunter, but Dante shook his head.

“It’s fine. You go on, Modeus. I have something to sort out here.” He turned sharply to Jeanne, Modeus running into the road in front of the shop trying to find his brother. Dante’s eyes narrowed to Nevan, and then he brought them to Jeanne, her eyes tearing up and fearful under such a gaze.

“Next time I tell you to get Patty, you get her and get out. I can handle myself, alright?” Dante sighed, placing Rebellion on his back. Patty chose this moment to come out of her shock-induced huddle, unfurling her knees and putting the chair back in its place.

“Yes, father.” Jeanne’s voice cracked as Dante leaned down, pulling her into a fierce embrace.

“You take Patty back to the orphanage, and then immediately call Trish, okay? Her number is on the desk.” Jeanne nodded, wiping her cheeks with her hands, slinging Nevan over her back as she helped Patty gather her things, the blonde nervously chattering to banish her panic.

\------

Rain clouds hung over the city, blocking the light of the late dusk from view, and the air couldn’t have been heavier. Choosing to forgo his usual attire, Dante instead donned his older coat, with the ripped sleeve, no shirt, and slung the Perfect Amulet over his neck, the red jewel gleaming with an otherworldly light. Under his coat, he’d brought Cerberus and Ifrit on his feet, the gauntlets hanging next to Ebony and Ivory. 

It didn’t take long for his opponent to arrive, and in the distance, Dante could see Modeus in the trees. Dante drew Rebellion from his back as Baul lifted his hooked blades. 

“Let us see who is more worthy of Sparda’s power,” Baul jeered, “The acolyte, or the child.” 

In the back of Dante’s head, all he could see was Vergil, moonlight casting an ethereal glow to his rain-wet hair and coat, the Yamato easy in his grip. He shook the image from his mind, forcing himself to focus. There were several beats of stillness, and when the thunder finally clapped, Baul launched forwards. 

Dante swapped Rebellion for Cerberus, using the nunchucks to grab both of Baul’s hooks, throwing them upwards, and punched the demon’s chest with a Triggered fist. The demon snarled, staggered, and rushed again, this time twisting to the side as Dante spun Cerberus in preparation for his own attack. Hooks sunk into Dante’s exposed arm and sliced through, blood splattering onto the ground with a delay, and then demonic healing kicked in, searing the wound shut. Another beat, Baul jumped, spinning in the air, blades behind him. Dante rolled, changing Cerberus for his pistols, grabbing them after sliding his hands into Ifrit’s gauntlets. He fired on Baul, a few shots landing their mark in his knees, causing the demon to buckle as he swerved around, trying to disorient the hunter. 

Dante tricked forward, uppercutting into Baul’s midsection, the demon spitting out blood in response to the force, and with a flurry of punches, Baul was sent flying into the nearest tree, breaking its trunk and causing it to collapse on top of his head. Dazed, he used his hooks to tear the wood apart, and leaned on them to help him stand, Dante standing ready with Rebellion again. 

“This is so much FUN!” Baul screamed, distracting Dante’s first parry with his left blade, sinking the right one through his left shoulder, dragging it down his back under his coat, cutting through his body to his right hip, blood spilling down, soaking his pants, and Dante could feel his bones being exposed to the elements, even with his almost instantaneous healing.

\--------

Modeus forced himself to be present. He’d found Baul not an hour before, to ask him his reasons for this, and nothing could have broken his heart more than realising his fault in separating with his brother. So he watched, watched their song and dance of weaponry. He balked when Baul clearly abandoned Sparda’s teachings, playing with Dante like any other high-ranking demon, instead of the noble swordsman that he knew Baul once was. 

He knew that Dante must have been getting tired of playing with Baul, and Modeus could easily recognise that the hunter was not actually trying to kill his brother, instead, he was trying to tire Baul’s anger. He appreciated the sentiment, but Modeus doubted that Baul would want mercy, especially since he had made it his mission to find and accost their former lord for abandoning him to the wilds of this world. 

He hadn’t been prepared, no matter how much he told himself, to see Baul impaled on Dante’s fist, a demonic transformation overtaking the hunter. In that form, Modeus could see his lord, his skin was like a carapace, dark with red-hot edges, and wings that tucked neatly against his body like his coat, and at his chest a flaming core. Red eyes narrowed at Baul, and he slammed Modeus’ brother onto the ground, retracting his blood coated hand from Baul’s gaping stomach wound, demon innards spilling onto his clothes as his body closed the injury. There was something said, and between deep, shaken breaths, Baul laughed. This seemed to end it, for the hunter, as he grabbed Baul’s own hooked blade, and drove it through the demon’s chest, twisting it with each of his pained screams. Dante released his transformation as he drew out Baul’s demon heart on the end of the sword, the organ still snaking lines of mucus that connected it to his body. 

With a single, unceremonious motion, Dante grabbed the offensive lump of flesh and blood, and crushed it in his gloved hand, blackened mucus and viscera landing on his face, in his hair and over his coat. At last, Baul was lifeless under his gaze, and Modeus was overtaken with grief. 

He ran to his brother, to beg for his life to return, and between hot tears, he couldn’t even hear himself. The storm picked up, and there was a haunted look in Dante’s eyes, as Modeus took up the other of Baul’s swords, and swung it wildly at the hunter. 

His death was much more swift, a decisive blow from Rebellion severing Modeus in half, his body exploding from the vertical incision, more muck clinging to Dante’s body.

And all Dante felt was disgusted.

What a waste it had been, for Modeus to throw himself into hot passion in revenge for his brother, a brother that had lost himself in the throes of power-driven greed. Dante’s mind raced, and he felt his stomach unsettle, would he not have done the same for Vergil, even if his sibling had killed his family once before? Did he not feel the guilt every day for allowing his twin to fall into Hell, to become Nelo Angelo? Was this his punishment?

Dante stared, face slack in disbelief, and in the torrent of rain that followed, he slumped with his back on the statue of his father, and let himself cry. 

\-----------

It was early in the morning when Dante finally returned, empty of emotion. Jeanne had flown from the desk to hug him, the rain having washed the mess from the fight off his clothes and skin, and Dante felt himself return in her warm arms. He brought his daughter closer into his chest, and purred like a cat, convincing himself that what he had done was right.

\-------

Sid had never been more gleeful, as he cautiously packed the twin skulls of Modeus and Baul into a chest, along with his other trinkets. As he put his disguise back on, he accidentally tore a hole in the hand of Simon’s skin. He cursed, it wouldn’t do now to give away the game, especially since even through the tiniest crack, Nina would be able to sense him thanks to the Tear. 

He hastily wrapped the injury, and made some toast.

It was going to be a good day, as the sun washed the sky a brilliant blue, and a rainbow spread colour on the horizon.


	14. True Faces and Truer Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid's machinations were in full swing, and there was not a thing they could do to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waaaaah another 10.5 page chapter. BUT, this and the next chapter conclude the story, and then it's an epilogue of sorts. 
> 
> Get keeeeeeen people.

They’d been stalking the dark streets for a while now, Simon insisting that Dante would show up when he was needed. She felt the weight of Alan’s Tear increase, and it sparked with a light as a demon came up on her flank. Like slow motion, she was preparing a fire-seal spell, when a silver bolt pierced through the back of the offensive creature. Nina released her spell, and found herself at a loss as a man with white hair and a long, red coat came up to the pair, a girl with the same white hair and blue eyes next to him, wearing a white, princess cut dress covered in butterflies and roses. The pairs exchanged looks, the man pulling his sword out of the back of the dissolving monster with a practiced ease, slinging it back over his shoulders. The skull on the hilt seemed to watch her, as Nina fidgeted in place. It was Simon who spoke first, breaking the awkward air.

“Nina, this is Dante, the famed hunter.” The white haired man nodded, crossing his arms impatiently.

“And I’m also very busy, so what’s the deal? You looking for a handyman?” 

“Y-Yes!” Nina sputtered, reaching with a clammy hand for her pendant, all but ripping it off her neck, “I need you to take care of this for me.” She hung it in front of the hunter’s face, his blue eyes seemed to glow red, and his companion let out a low hiss.

“Please,” the hunter regained his composure, blinking away his frightening stare, “Follow us back to Devil May Cry.” 

\------

Nina quickly learned that the girl was Jeanne, and she was quite good at making a soothing tea. She explained the problem to the hunter, watching his reactions to her tale. 

_Long ago, there was an alchemist called Alan, and he gained magical power by sealing demons into artefacts. However, he once found a demon he could not tame, Abigail, whose power could rival that of the Four Great Demon Kings, even that of the Dark Knight Sparda. Sensing that he could not hope to contain Abigail, and lest he let Abigail’s power be taken by another alchemist from his possession, loose as it was, he created a complicated seal on a pendant of pure silver and lapis lazuli, the ‘demon stone’. This pendant was handed down through the generations, but only now is it attracting all kinds of demons._

“My life is in danger, and, if I fail to contain it,” Nina sobbed, “Patricia’s life as well.” 

Dante’s lips drew into a thin line, and Jeanne’s own expression grew dark, brows furrowed and cheeks ashen.

“I thought you’d say that.” Dante sighed, reaching for an envelope on the top of the mini fridge next to him, looking through the stack of photos within, finding it at last. The picture was from Hunnington, Patty and Jeanne huddled in front of a delicate vase full of flowers, and clearly in view was Patty’s necklace, a copy of Nina’s pendant.

“You see,” Dante said, as he showed this photograph to Nina, causing the woman to blanche, “I knew who you were the moment I saw that thing. You’re her mother, aren’t you? Nina Lowell.”

Simon reached over, his hand a gentle reassurance, and Nina drove her heels into the floor, concentrating on that feeling of the ground, willing her fright away.

“I am, yes, which was why I couldn’t keep her. You have to understand!” Nina pleaded, her face heating up. Dante rolled his eyes, then extended his hand, palm open.

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll take this job,” He said, grabbing the silver backed jewel as it landed on his glove, “But I don’t come cheap. I hope you’re ready for the cost. I’ll have Morrison send you an invoice later.” He waved his opposite hand, indicating for Nina and her escort to leave, when Dante caught Simon’s bandaged hand in the corner of his eye.

“How’d you get that?” Dante asked, pointing to the slightly reddened bandages. Simon’s eyes went wide, only for a moment, before he chuckled to himself.

“I burnt my hand toasting bread. Can you believe that?” 

Dante narrowed his eyes, deciding not to respond. Once the travelling pair were gone, he turned to Jeanne, throwing her Alan’s Tear.

“Go find father’s journal, if this demon is that powerful, and that old, he had to have known something.” Jeanne stood, brushing down her skirt and gathering the coffee and tea cups.

“What about you?” Jeanne looked up, but found her father nowhere to be seen. She sighed and left for the upper part of the shop.

She had work to do.

\-----------

Nina had organised a rather fancy hotel room for this trip, before she’d even left New York. Between its chic, light grey walls and red, plush carpet and floor length windows, she’d hoped to reunite with her daughter at last, and take her back to their ancestral home to teach her magic. Nina fell into the too soft bed, and Simon went to the window, watching the city below from the darkness of the room. 

Nina had fallen asleep, unaware that the reflection in the windows was not her friend from school, and she would never realise it until too late. Sid, now ready to take action, left the woman to her slumber, and headed towards his hovel on the roof, admiring his collection under the pale moonlight.

Soon, he’d make off like a beggar with the crown of a king, but he needed to make Simon vanish, and then reappear in a gruesome, tragic death scene.

\-------

Jeanne had scanned through Sparda’s journals, and found not much in the way of specific information on Alan or Abigail, but other, worrying details had come to her attention. One of the few things Dante had gone back to Redgrave to find, Sparda’s three tomes of hand-written accounts that spanned fifty years each were among the salvage. Within their pages, Jeanne had found a recount of a demon ascension ritual, the fusion of demonic powers. According to the descriptions her grandfather had left, it would be possible for any low-level demon to attain strength akin to his own, if they gathered the requisite materials. Sparda hadn’t seen this ritual come to fruition, and any he had heard of ended in tragic circumstances. 

But Jeanne suspected where her grandfather had missed seeing this event, she and her father were about to experience it for themselves.

She was quite startled when Dante appeared beside her, and she snapped the thick book in her lap shut, yelping in surprise. The hunter chuckled, patting Jeanne’s head lightly.

“So, what did you find?” Dante gestured for the pendant, and Jeanne handed it to him wordlessly, opening to a page in the back end of the second journal.

“As you can see,” Jeanne pointed to the lower half of the page, “This is all I found. Grandfather talks about a ritual for demons to gain power, but nothing on our alchemist or the demon lord he sealed.”

Dante frowned as he read, and seethed with curses as he looked at the diagrams on the next page, outlining the materials and process. 

“I wondered why Sid was following me around,” Dante’s eyes turned a red hue, “He was on Morris Island, hell he was there when I met Patty. I bet he’s been behind all this from the beginning.” Dante’s mood darkened, and with his back turned to the dawning light coming from the bedroom window, his shadow extended into his demon form.

“You think that runt of a demon is trying to get Abigail’s power for himself?” Jeanne placed her hand on her father’s shoulder, and he took her hand into his, squeezing it gently.

“Jeanne, listen,” He spoke barely above a whisper, “I need you to take Patty and go back to Hunnington. I’m sure Enzo will-” 

“No.” 

Jeanne met Dante’s incredulous look with a cold, golden glare, challenging the hunter.

“I am needed here. I’m the only one who can break the ritual, unless you count Miss Lowell.” 

Dante muttered something about teenage rebellion and cursed his luck. He resigned himself to his fate, and told Jeanne to rest up, he’d get Trish and Lady on board, he doubted the ease of the mission at hand. Replacing the necklace on his own neck, he strode down to his desk and picked up the receiver.

“Hello, Lady, I’d like to get you a cut in my next job,” He opened the phone call, “Morrison will fill you in on the situation. Is Trish with you?”

\---------

Sitting in Fredi’s diner, Dante felt a little awkward. Fredi had kicked him out three days ago, and only today had he finally snapped out of his funk, and in front of Dante was his favourite - a pepperoni pizza. He’d been chewing through slices as he waited for Lady and Trish to arrive, the women having been at the library this morning after his call. 

Then the window next to him shattered with a rush of wind, Dante bracing from the glass with his coat, raising its tail up to form a shield. With another rush of wind, the hunter whipped around, Ebony in hand and Cyndi screamed. A demon was holding her hostage, its crooked, clawed hand clamped over her exposed midriff, long tail holding her neck and its other claws digging into her thigh, blood snaking down to her boot.

“D-Dante!” Cyndi choked, the demon tightened its grip, and the waitress had washed a whole new shade of white. The demon unhinged its jaw, showing off three rows of horrible, tusk-like teeth, and its bloated body jiggled like a water balloon as it made its demand.

“Give me the seal! GIVE IT TO ME, OR SHE WILL DIE.”

Dante grit his teeth, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fredi, frozen in horror, and Cyndi was almost unconscious now, probably out of pain and shock. He narrowed his eyes, and focused, he counted his breaths, watching time slow down. While he’d gained some time manipulation, it was tenuous, and Quicksilver had all but faded from his senses. He used the precious seconds he had between the demon making more declarations and the door behind Dante opening to shoot the monster cleanly in the eye socket, causing it to explode in sand and smoke. Time snapped back into place, and Cyndi was crying, hot stings of the demon washing past her in a breeze, her leg like lead. It was Lady who responded quickest, hoisting the waitress to a spot behind the counter, administering treatment that would hold until she got to hospital. The few other patrons of the diner fled in a lunch-losing rush, and Fredi himself was not much better, mumbling nonsense. 

“Dante, that pendant…” Trish whispered, watching Lady carefully talk the restaurateur back into reality.

“Nina wasn’t kidding. They’re really out for this thing, huh. Just like old times…” Dante’s eyes grew distant in the fog of memory and nightmare, he flinched when Trish touched his shoulder. 

“What you need to know is, when the ritual begins, there’s going to be a whole horde summoned, trying to get the powers of Abigail.” Dante’s eyes widened, Trish and Lady giving him blank stares.

“What do you mean, _when it begins_?”

“There were six requirements on the seal - and I reckon that little bitch we saw back in Hunnington has them all. Hell, I reckon he’s already with Nina.” Lady spat, walking at pace back to her bike, Trish climbing on behind her with a practiced ease. Dante sighed, rubbing his head in his hands, trying not to think about how close to the truth his friends could be. 

“Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!” Dante yelled, pounding his fist into the nearest wall, causing a fracture to rip through the concrete covering the brickwork. 

“Dante, no need to freak out now. Worry about it when it gets out of hand, for now, get ready. It’s happening, tonight.” Lady admonished, putting her helmet over her short, dark hair. 

Dante cursed once more.

\-----------

Nina hadn’t seen the hide nor hair of Simon, and it was starting to worry her. She was pacing around the outside of Devil May Cry, when the door opened. 

There, was her little Patricia, hair up in a tight bun, a lovely pink dress with red piping and a strawberry pinned to the right of her chest. It made Nina’s eyes burn, as she saw Patty’s father in her adorably young face, elfish sharpness hidden in the delicacy of baby-fat, a narrow nose bridge and high cheeks leading to a pointed chin and broad, slender shoulders. 

Nina ran, as fast as her Mary Janes would allow her.

And Patty called and called, as she gave chase, the young girl unable to keep up with Nina. Surprise and hope had caused her to pause for a moment too long, and in her excitement she was unable to maintain pace with the woman, and she found herself staring at the chest of Dante, who easily picked her up and carried her back to the shop, away from Nina, away - as he hoped - from the chaos that would unfold.

\--------

“Genie! Wake up!” Dante’s voice rang out with a faint echo through the living quarters, and Jeanne stirred from her fitful rest. A dream had overtaken her, not of Nero, but of Patricia. She bolted upright in her bed, grabbed a change of clothes and sprinted for the bathroom at the back of the building, Dante settling Patty into the couch under the stairs so that he could chase down Nina. 

Jeanne came to an abrupt consciousness under the cooled water, and dressed at a record pace, choosing dark jeans, a thicker, indigo shirt and a gold coloured scarf, her hair braided tightly against her skull in a spiral. She threw on her footwear and marched to the garage, retrieving her weaponry and sitting on the opposing couch, Patty in a stunned daze. 

“Jeanne,” Patty breathed, her eyes filled with something intangible, “Was, was that my mother?”

“I’m afraid, Patty, I didn’t see who you mean.” Jeanne replied easily, as she cleaned her rifle once again, looking through the scope a few times. 

“This woman! Jeanne, have you seen her?” Patty hurried to remove her locket, revealing its contents, a picture of a woman holding a baby in her arms. Her face was narrow, eyes a bit closer together than Patty’s, and her blonde hair was straighter than her daughter’s by a mile. Green eyes looked lovingly upon the pale blue of Patty’s, as the infantile girl beheld her mother.

“...Nina?” Jeanne said, pensive. If it had been her father, Dante would have denied ever seeing her, swearing black and blue that the woman didn’t exist and that Patty was better off never knowing. However, Jeanne was limited by one thing, her divinity; it prevented her from lying, and even if she could lie, Patty's expecting face would be impossible to ignore. 

"Nina came here, with a pendant just like your locket," Jeanne explained, Patty running her fingertips all over the intricate details on her necklace, "She was afraid for your life, Patty. There are demons trying to kill her for it." Jeanne rose from her position on the couch, slinging her rifle over her shoulder, Nevan wrapping around her wrist like a bracelet. 

"Patty, those demons that were after you," Jeanne felt her eyes beginning to water, the weight of the confession she was about to give like a thick cloak, "They thought your necklace was hers. It's possible they've been chasing you ever since you were used as a decoy for Patty Lowell."

Patty went back to a quiet state, face ashen and eyes searching every corner of the room for comfort. There was something haunting her, a hidden knowledge that she couldn't explain. It had indeed been her mother that she had seen, but somehow Patty knew she was in danger far greater than Nina knew. 

"Jeanne," Patty reached for the older girl's hand, "Take me with you to mother. Please! I have to see her!" Patty pleaded, her hands clammy and tight around Jeanne's digits. Jeanne's eyes softened, and her shoulders slumped in resignation. 

"Alright, we'll go together. But if trouble starts, you get back here, okay?" Jeanne gently brushed her knuckles against Patty's cheek, tucking back a few stray hairs behind her ears. 

Patty nodded, wiping away a few tears. 

Now Jeanne only needed to find her father. 

\------

Dante vaulted over cars to follow Nina as closely as possible. When he arrived at the hotel she had fled to, he saw Lady and Trish parking out the front, pistols and rocket launcher at the ready. Dante took a deep breath and reached for Rebellion, shedding the guitar case somewhere near the girls' bike. 

Inside, the hotel was a sight to behold. Pale yellow walls were delicately lit by art deco wall sconces and a skylight that spread over the interior garden, brilliant, fragrant blooms and leaves spilling out of terracotta pots. Men and women walked around the red, soft carpets in silken refinery, complimenting the style of the building. Lady waved to Dante from the front desk, indicating with her fingers the floor number and room. With a nod, he charged up the stairs, tucked away in the back corner of the room with a distinct elegance, using his Trigger to run faster than his human form. 

At the fifteenth floor, there was a scream. Dante ripped the door inwards, almost tearing it off its handles, and he cringed at the suddenly brighter lights of the hallway. 

And the mangled corpse of Simon. 

His back was wide open, ribs and spine contorting his body at a weird angle, looking like he'd been shed like a reptile's skin. His mouth was even hanging loosely, as if he was screaming. But Nina fell to her knees at the sight, her face totally blanched, and she keeled to the side, emptying her stomach in a single, strong heave in a space between doorways. 

"Simon…" Nina hiccuped. Dante sprung forward, preventing Nina from touching the body. 

"I thought you might do this," Dante said, mostly to himself while he opened Nina's room, "I thought it was you this whole time, wasn't it, Sid?" 

There, sitting lazily on a wooden chair in front of a inked, black circle, five smaller circles filled with Demon artefacts, Baul and Modeus' skulls, the broken mask of the curse demon, the bloodied stone from Morris Island, a broken record of Mermaid Rock. Sid chortled, laughing, cackling with anticipation as his plan came to fruition! Here, at last, was the final ingredient, Nina Lowell herself. Sid leapt from his chair, landing right behind Nina, placing his cold, clawed hand behind her kidneys, driving his nails into her skin. Dante made to shoot Sid, but a terrific force threw him out the window and into the street below. 

He watched Nina's agonised face, flipping around as he fell, trying to get a shot on the lesser demon. He landed on his back, staring into the darkening clouds above, as Jeanne's shadow washed over his face. 

He only barely heard them run into the hotel, as the rest of the patrons fled. 

\-------

Morrison had directed the girls towards Dante's whereabouts, and the two had charged at full tilt to make it in time to see Dante fall from the second topmost floor. With a crash, he sailed downwards, almost in slow motion. Once he landed, Jeanne checked his pulse, he was still alive, but out of commission for a time. She told Patty to run back, and the girl seemed to follow, so Jeanne ran into the hotel. 

Deciding to forgo formalities, Jeanne sliced apart the fallen, broken elevator in the lobby, throwing the scrap pieces aside to access the shaft. Spreading her wings, she felt Nevan coat them with sparks of electricity, and shot into the inky passageway, placing her feet on the fifteenth floor in mere moments. Doors had been flung open left and right, and the floor had been torn up in the struggle. Outside, Jeanne could hear the squeals of people and demons, all manners of Claws, talons and maws making their way up the side of the hotel, all converging for Nina's room. Outside said room, was the corpse of Simon. 

_Sid must have used it as a disguise_ , Jeanne gathered, _it's the only way he could have slipped under our radars for so long_.

Inside the room, a faint blue glow had overtaken the floor, symbols and artefacts charged with power, Sid uttering words to complete the ritual. Jeanne carefully took the rifle from her shoulders, levelling the scope at Sid's head. She caught Nina's too-wide eyes, and the woman struggled against her restraints and gags as Jeanne squeezed the trigger, a concentrated holy round landing perfectly between Sid's brows. 

The demon recoiled, but the glow of the room intensified. Sid locked eyes with Jeanne, blood dripping down his skull, his body ejecting the bullet back at her with enough force to kill. Nevan shocked the projectile out of the sky with a bolt. 

"Oh my, much, much, much too late little one. Maybe next time," Sid spoke with a growl surrounding his words, another voice taking over, "You'll shoot every demon regardless."

Jeanne rolled forward, avoiding a strike by Sid's elongated claws. The lesser creature was twisting, bones cracking in sharp jolts, and looking in his hand Jeanne realised she was indeed, too late. 

Alan's Test was ablaze with power, and it was coalescing around Sid like a cloud, searching him with tendrils of smoke, and then they snapped towards Nina, enveloping the crying woman. Her eyes, drained of water and exhausted by terror, lit up in recognition as Sid stepped to her, driving a knife into her chest, and the smoke wisps of the Tear filled Sid's nostrils and open lips. He transformed, his ragged clothes covered by a golden, draconic armour. The helmet's ruby eyes glinted, and with a snap of his fingers, a glassy portal opened in front of Jeanne. 

"JEANNE!" Dante cried in unison with Patty, who had apparently hidden herself in the hallway. Dante threw Rebellion at the now armoured Sid, and the Demon simply side stepped, the sword falling into the portal. Dante leaned in through the window, reaching for Jeanne fruitlessly, as Sid grabbed Jeanne by her wrist, diving into the portal. 

"Dante! Stay with mom!" Patty called, stepping forward to follow Jeanne. Dante yelled, trying to get the girl's attention, but she was gone in a moment. Dante heard Nina cough, her face slack and eyes fading fast. He untied her from the chair and released her gag. 

"Dante," the woman rasped, shielding her wound from view, "Patty's necklace will protect her. I made it like that… Please… Take care of my daughter…."

Another eight year old, left without their mother. 

Dante felt a wild rage tear through his chest, and without the Rebellion in hand, he flew down the hotel walls again, landing amidst the chaos on the streets. He took the Sparda off Trish's back, the demoness alerted by the action, and the hunter threw himself into a blitz of a blade dance, slicing demons apart in moments. 

And he raged, for his daughters, against the winds of fate. 

\---------

Jeanne's eyes opened to face the burnt walls of the Redgrave estate. There was a terrible pain in her chest, and her ears were ringing with words and thoughts, but she couldn't concentrate on a single one. 

"The angel is awake."

"Then let us begin."

The two voices slowly came into focus, and Jeanne's eyes came around from the floor, raising to see the ashen and broken ceiling, and two pairs of eyes staring at her. One pair, golden and snake-like, the other blue and bright. The golden eyes sat in a tri-horned helmet of a demon, its lower face a grey-green flesh with purplish lips, and the rest of its armour was a thick carapace, it looked like a dragonfly. The girl next to it had soft, pink skin, flushed with energy. She wore a long, black shift that was made from organza, a red silk belt wrapped around her waist. Her white hair was delightfully short and bouncy. Jeanne dared to look down at her own body as she stood up, and she saw her angelic armour. 

"Who are you?" Jeanne asked. 

"I am Genie!" the human girl raised her arms in delight, and the demon scoffed. 

"I am of Sparda's lineage. I have no name." The demon gumbled. 

All three of them braced their heads, a bell toll causing an ache. 

“Listen, we only have this chance,” The demon ground out from its sharp-toothed grimace, “Do you accept me as part of you, properly part of you?”

Jeanne was at a loss, and she stared at the demon, earnesty not an expression she expected from the insectoid creature. Her angelic hand tensed, unable to embrace her counterpart in a handshake. 

“What do you mean? I thought-”

“Jeanne,” Genie was firm in her tone, “You reject your heritage because you’re afraid of losing control to it. But when you handle the Rebellion, and Nevan, you don’t fear that at all.”

Jeanne paused at the accusation, and she turned to face the portrait that sat above the fireplace, seeing in it her grandmother, father and uncle, but Sparda’s face had been too burnt to see its true form. Was she really afraid of who she was related to? Dante had given her Seed his blood, and now she was part of the same line as him, belonging to the Legendary Dark Knight, a demon. What was she afraid of?

“I don’t understand.” Jeanne admitted, cradling her head against her confusion. Genie braced her gently, an arm around her shoulders, and the demon huffed.

“Let me tell you a story, angelic one, a story that will set you straight.” 

_Sparda’s twin sons, Vergil and Dante, were gifted with his two special Devil Arms, the Yamato and the Rebellion. Vergil’s Oodachi could cut through anything, even the Veil, meanwhile Dante’s claymore could bring together that which had been rented asunder. When they were boys, Dante exhibited the more devilish traits, constantly looking to pick a fight with Vergil, gaining strength just to be strong. Vergil, meanwhile, was more human in his interests, indulging in intellectual pursuits and fascinated by human ingenuity._

_This was why Sparda split his power as such. Only Vergil in his humanity would understand the need to sever a bond, to cut the worlds apart, and eventually the devilishness in Dante would teach him the need to fuse together, to bind and heal. However, when the boys lost their parents, and then one another, their places were switched. Vergil abandoned his human nature, declaring it a weakness and the cause for his mother’s death, and Dante swore off his demonic powers, in order to cast off the curse that followed him by his father’s name._

_It was only in a clash of ideals, when the brothers met again atop the ancient tower, did Dante accept his fate. He had been run through on his own sword, and Rebellion activated its binding magic, preventing Dante from sealing his demonic abilities ever again. He rejected the demonic desire for power above all else, because twice it caused him to lose his family - once by another’s doing, and finally by his own hands. However, he needs his power, his strength, to continue his father’s legacy and protect mankind._

“More importantly for you,” the demon placed an open palm on its chest, “I am the reason you can even wield a Devil Arm. Only a demon can control a demon’s soul, if you choose to reject me now, you’ll never hold Nevan again.” 

“And what of you,” Jeanne’s eyes had been on the portrait, but now she turned back to Genie, “What are you in all of this?”

“I am your physical manifestation. What would be left, if there was nothing else.” The girl retracted her limbs, lacing her fingers into her long, dark skirt, wiping away sweat. 

“Why now? Why am I only learning this now?” Jeanne lamented, falling to her knees. The demon came to her side, kneeling just as she was, focused on lecturing her.

“You’ve always known, you saw it whenever you divined our father’s soul,” the demon pressed a cool, scaly hand to the back of Jeanne’s neck, “But you can only see it clearly now because we’re under the influence of Rebellion.” 

An image came to Jeanne’s mind, of her, strapped to a cross statue, above clamouring Hell Prides with her father’s sword run through her chest. She felt the colour drain from her face, and was numb even as Genie wrapped her in kind arms.

“Jeanne,” the demon sounded on the verge of tears, “I cannot force you to accept me. However, you know that demons and angels used to be the same. I cannot promise the road will be easy, but a house divided cannot stand.” 

“I need you,” Jeanne concluded, through shaky breaths, “To continue the Sparda legacy, my father’s legacy. I need your strength to be mine.”

Jeanne stood, her armour gleaming in the alien light, and spread her wings.

“Then come to me, nameless one, and let the union of father’s blood and my Seed be completed at last.”

The demon grinned, Genie sucking in a deep breath. Jeanne felt the demon merge into her back, the demon’s wings added to her own, becoming feathered and capped in gold. Her armour also changed, the skirt that hung around her waist disappearing, becoming instead a red scarf that hung from her shoulders. At her hip appeared a rapier, its handle made of twisting rose vines, thorns etched along its blade. When she next opened her eyes, there was Patty, eyes full of tears, Rebellion in her hand.

“Jeanne! Oh Jeanne!” Patty wailed.


	15. The End?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All has not been lost, and a new day dawns, with its own oncoming challenges.

When Patty had chased Jeanne into the portal, she hadn’t been expecting to arrive so late. Sid had already fled, leaving Patty to find Jeanne pinned to a statue by Rebellion. She thought idly that Dante would hurt himself if he knew that he’d given Sid the weapon to end Jeanne. Patty felt hot wetness stream down her face as she approached, her numbness extending into her ears, ignoring the cries and scratching of the demons with their scythes below. She jumped from the edge of the land to Jeanne’s feet, clambering up the stone to bring their eyes to the same level. She tugged on the hilt of the sword to no avail.

“C’mon, Jeanne,” Patty whimpered, “Your dad’s been through worse, you have to be okay! Please! I need you to wake up, Dante needs you to wake up!”

“Please Jeanne, PLEASE WAKE UP!” Patty sniffled, pulling at the blade with all her might, feet planted either side of Jeanne’s ribs, using her entire body to move the stubborn metal from its perch in Jeanne’s flesh. With a sickening crack, it came loose, Patty sailing backwards onto the land. In a flash of light, Jeanne came back to life, in her angelic transformation. In her hindbrain, Patty recognised that the armour had changed, but her mission had not.

“Jeanne! Oh Jeanne!” Patty wailed, taking Jeanne’s hand into hers. In another soft flash, they returned to the hotel room. It was now a bomb site, Dante nowhere to be seen, the wall half gone and the ceiling and floors burnt from the ritual. Nina’s lifeless body lay where it had fallen, and Patty ran to it, tripping over the bedding that had been strewn about in the struggle. 

“Mom, I’m so sorry! I wanted to see you so bad…” Patty sobbed, Jeanne feeling her own face heat up in sorrow, “And now you’re gone again.” Patty said, defeatedly, as she fell to the floor, stroking her mother’s hair gently. Morrison burst through the door, which was surprisingly still attached to the frame, and the older gentleman gestured wildly to Patty.

“Come on, kiddo! We gotta go! And you,” Morrison nodded to Jeanne’s transformed form, “Your daddy’s down there raising hell. Go help him.” 

Jeanne didn’t need to be told twice, as she leapt through the window using all four of her wings. She raised her hand to the darkened sky, and summoned Nevan to her grasp, the guitar flying effortlessly into her palm. With a single, devastating strum, she brought down enough lightning to finish the hordes that had taken over the streets. Trish and Lady looked up in relieved, stunned silence, and Dante was paused in his rampage. He laughed as he watched his daughter descend from the skies, but his ease was short lived, as his trademark blade came to his side yet again, and it didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened.

He seriously wanted a piece of Sid now.

Looking up, he could see the gold-clad demon sitting cross legged at the top of the hotel, leering with an unsettling pride. Jeanne and Dante turned their gazes to the empowered demon, and launched upwards.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll take care of any stragglers. Thanks for asking!” Lady sighed, exasperated and exhausted. She collapsed onto her bike, picking up Dante’s guitar case, slinging it over her free shoulder. Trish giggled, waving to Morrison and Patty as they came out of the rubble that surrounded the site. 

“My mom…” Patty hiccuped. Lady patted her knees, and Patty let herself enjoy the woman’s hug while Morrison smoked a thick cigar.

“Take care, Dante, Jeanne.” The broker sighed.

\--------

Sid flexed his muscles under the golden plating that now covered his body. He raised his armoured hands to block the blows that Jeanne and Dante made, Sparda slicing upwards and Nevan downwards, aiming for a decapitation. Jeanne grunted as she landed on the roof proper, sliding some distance from Sid, Dante flying backwards in the air. 

“You’ll never be able to defeat me!” Sid yelled, launching forward into the sky, claws pointing straight for Dante, spiralling like a drill, when a single shot from Jeanne’s rifle curved perfectly into the side of his helmet, causing him to lose all his momentum. He tried flapping his wings, but realised belatedly that Dante had shot a hundred new holes into their leathery make-up, and Sid crashed with a yelp into the pavement below. 

The hunter and his daughter released their transformations once Sid was prone, Dante stabbing the Sparda straight through his chest, the armour ineffective at protecting the lower demon. He did succeed in pushing the blade away, but it changed from a curved broadsword, into a hooked scythe, and the push against the weapon only caused it to yank his heart upwards in his body. 

“It seems you are an unsuitable host.” Jeanne said coolly, pointing her rifle barrel directly into the spot between Sid’s eyes, Dante setting both his feet onto the demon’s knees, preventing his escape. With a decisive _pop_ , Sid lay lifeless beneath the hunting pair, the armour dissipating with a faint hiss, turning once more into pale blue smoke. The gathered clouds above began to part, a dawn on the horizon.

Lady, Trish and Morrison all approached Dante and Jeanne, the father and daughter exhausted, leaning on each other and their weapons to stay upright. Patty followed at a distance, eyes glued on the ruins of the fifteenth floor, where she knew her mother lay, slain by a greedy demon. 

Just as she came to face Dante, about to ask the man for a funeral arrangement, the smoke engulfed her head. The girl sputtered, Dante lurching forward to catch Patty, cradling her to his chest as she convulsed, her skin flushing a deep red. Lady touched the back of her hand to Patty’s forehead, flinching as she felt an intense fever taking over. 

“I’ll go get a medkit.” The huntress declared, sprinting back to her bike, Trish and Morrison looking around nervously for remaining demons, or a solution to this new problem.

“Abigail,” Jeanne began, “Is probably trying to use her as a host. He tried to take Nina as well, before Sid killed her.”

“If only I had the Yamato,” Dante cursed himself, “Then I could cut Abigail away completely. Can’t you purify her?” He offered the girl in his arms to Jeanne, who shook her head sadly. 

“It’s entirely possible any type of cleansing spell I cast will kill her.” 

But she looked to the sword on her father’s back, and thought of the effect the blade had when she had been pierced. 

And she looked to Dante, still holding Patty’s quivering body fast as Lady applied a cooling pack to her forehead. 

And finally Jeanne looked to the destroyed face of Nina’s room. 

“Father in heaven and on earth,” Jeanne prayed, lifting Rebellion from Dante’s shoulders, the hunter turning his face to see her in the corner of his eye, “Bless this child.”

With a look of utter betrayal, Jeanne’s long shadow cast over the group, she drove the blade home, through Dante’s back and into Patty’s abdomen. Blood of the cambion poured into the wound in the human child by following the metal of the weapon, and there was a faint sucking noise between the shouts of the adults surrounding Jeanne.


	16. More Fortuna Days are Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Patricia Katherine Lowell-Redgrave now.

“...So you stabbed your own sister, in order to bind her and the demon together.” Nero surmised, Jeanne weary under his intense gaze.

“It was the most elegant solution - Patty had lost her mother, and she’d all but made herself a part of our family by that point.” 

Jeanne looked to the sky visible in the grove, admiring the stars with a gentle smile. Nero tilted his head in consideration, unable to comprehend the mind of his almost nightly companion. 

“Also,” Jeanne laughed, “Back in Hunnington she declared that she wanted to be a huntress. Not to disrespect Lady, but it is beneficial for our kind to have such powers, especially when you’re so close to my father.” 

Nero sighed, rubbing his nose bridge again, then waving his hands in dismissal.

“You’re insane.” He yawned. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

\--------

It had taken Patty a few days to wake up after the ordeal. Dante had arranged for Nina’s body to be incinerated, the flowery urn living in Patty and Jeanne’s shared room. A picture of Nina was placed next to Eva, and a few days after that, a picture of Kalina Ann had snuck its way into the same corner, a tribute to all the lost mothers at the Devil May Cry agency. When Patty had reawoken, she’d been in a state, to say the least. She demanded iron rich foods, and then she’d cough up blood for a few hours, only to go back to sleep not long after that. When the cycle finally stopped, a week after Patty had woken, and fifteen days after the mess with Sid, Patty had begun to speak of what she was feeling.

Within her body, she described, it felt like an oppressive storm, Abigail speaking to her cryptically but not threatening her. A few times Abigail himself had appeared, possessing Patty’s tongue, expressing his interest in the human world.

“Oh, I’m nothing like Sparda,” the demon had chortled, “But I’m interested in seeing what this host of mine can do. Her heart and soul are strong, I’d hate to just eat that up now.” 

And for days on end, nothing had come out of Abigail, and Patty was trepidatiously allowed to return to school and cleaning jobs. Then Dante made a suggestion.

“I know we’re all just waiting on the other shoe to drop,” the hunter said between sips of his drink, “But we can’t just stay like this. Every morning before school, you’re going to do the same exercises as Genie.” 

And so, at the crack of dawn, every day, Patty, Jeanne and Dante packed into the Corvette and headed to the forest to train. Jeanne would draw on her newfound powers to better control her rifle shots and Nevan, while Patty would focus on trying to commune with Abigail, mostly by using weaponry.

 _Only a demon can wield a Devil Arm_ Jeanne recalled, and whenever Patty and Abigail were out of synch, the girl could barely lift Alastor, and other times she was a whirlwind of forms and movements. Sometimes Patty would accidentally Trigger, and it caused a lot of embarrassment for the small girl. Abigail apparently thought it best to make his new host an appropriate demon form, but that meant that Patty was left revealing a lot of skin. As Lady and Trish had explained to the rather upset blonde one day, demons were attracted to easy prey, which is why _they_ wore revealing outfits, hoping to drive the monsters into enough of a frenzy to be easy to kill. That didn’t stop Patty’s embarrassment however. She still had to deal with dragon-like scales of plate that hugged her sides, clawed boots and gauntlets and a dragon skull helm, while her chest and lower body were bound by several pairs of small, leathery wings.

But Patty put on a strong face, and she left behind her frilly dresses and fanciful clothes for more basic items. Long skirts, shifts and jeans and band shirts soon occupied her wardrobe, and she cut her hair much shorter than ever before, clipped as a bob just under her earlobes. It had saddened Jeanne greatly, to see the drastic change in Patty as such, especially as she had officially been adopted as her sister. The memories of Patty before the transformation felt so long ago, as weeks turned into months. 

Eventually, Jeanne had been sent to school along with Patty, after an incident with a boy causing Abigail to lash out with his partially transformed claws, causing a rather bloody wound to manifest on the boy’s arm. Jeanne was there to protect the other students, as much as be Patty’s companion. 

Another change Patty had brought upon her adoption into the Redgrave family, was the re-installation of holiday traditions, such as Christmas and Easter. And when Dante’s birthday came around again, after a tumultuous first year as a parent, Jeanne had been dragged into Patty’s scheme to make it a good day. She’d heard from her sister how Dante had spent his last few birthdays, drowned in booze and buried in pizza, and Patricia Katherine Lowell-Redgrave declared that it was her sworn duty to liven up the anniversary of Dante’s birthing. It was the first sign that Jeanne had that Patty was returning to some semblance of normal, after so long of being mired in Abigail’s possession and grief for her mother. 

“Shhhh… he’s here!”

“I can tell, Patty.” 

Dante wandered into the darkened shop, panic quickly gripping his heart, when the lights came back on, giving him a proper heart attack.

There, on his desk, was a towering cup of strawberry sundae, a fresh bottle of whiskey and a roasted dinner.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!”


End file.
